


Forget Me Not

by LittleLynn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Ancient Rome, Angst, Barduil Secret Santa, Fluff, M/M, Modern Day, Pirates, Renaissance Era, Smut, Victorian, Vikings, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLynn/pseuds/LittleLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard had no idea if he was cursed or blessed. Maybe some strange mix of the two.</p><p>All he knew was that he remembered each life clear as day, and Thranduil did not. </p><p>He could count their lives like a broken-hearted girl with a flower might do; he loves me, he loves me not. </p><p>He loves me, then he loves me not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shipsicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsicle/gifts).



> This fic is eight chapters in total, I will post two a day until it's done so it will finish for you on christmas eve ^^ I really really hope you like what happened with this fic, it kind of ran away with itself :') 
> 
>  
> 
> I was told you liked de-aged meetings as well as reincarnation au's so here, have that too ^^

 

“Thraaaaan! Wait!” Bard called, trying to get his little legs to run faster to keep up with Thranduil’s slightly longer ones, his friend always seemed to manage to stay just a few inches taller than him.

“Hurry up silly.” Thranduil threw over his shoulder, silver blonde hair whipping out the way and smiling back at his friend.

Bard redoubled his efforts, trying to get himself to run faster and spurred on by the way the gap between them closed fractionally.

“Where are we even going?” Bard yelled after his friend, half-tripping over a root and stumbling slightly, Thranduil paused to check he was okay before carrying on running, Bard still trying to catch him.

“Down to the creek!” Thranduil told him as he deftly picked out the path through the woods, Bard following his steps as best he could.

Thranduil loved the creek, people would tell stories about it, how it had once been an enchanted river running through a great old kingdom filled with magical creatures like elves and dwarves and trees that could move and talk. Old man Tom told the best ones, always filled with adventure and magic, Bard liked old man Tom, he told the stories about who he and Thran had been before, even if Bard was the only other one who seemed to remember.

“Wait up Thran I don’t want to get lost!” Bard shouted after his friend, who diligently slowed down, but only so Bard could follow more easily, he still couldn’t quite catch up with his friend.

No one could find their way through the woods like Thranduil could, everyone else in their town thought it was strange, how the little boy seemed to have a sixth sense or an internal map of the forest, Bard didn’t think it was strange, they had been Thranduil’s forests once upon a time after all. When he talked about it the adults smiled at him and ruffled his hair and asked him to tell them more of his little stories about ‘middle earth’. They told him he had a wonderful imagination even when Bard tried his hardest to explain to them that he wasn’t imagining it, it was who he and Thran had been before, but they never believed him.

“Come on slow-coach not much further.” Thranduil sing-songed back to him, voice carrying through the woods like music and making Bard smiled, Thranduil always made him smile.

“I’m coming I’m coming!” Bard called back, grumbling to himself about Thranduil’s stupid long legs and elven coordination, he knew it was something he had used to grumble about a lot back when they were adults and elves were still around.

He heard Thranduil laugh and call him slow again which drove Bard to run even faster, putting on a last burst of speed that caught Thranduil off guard as they burst through the treeline and onto the splash of grass beside the creek, Bard looping his arms around Thranduil’s slim waist and dragging them both to the floor laughing loudly.

“Caught you Thran.” Bard grinned at his friend, propping his chin up on Thranduil’s chest as his friend lay back in the grass grinning up at the blue sky.

“How come you call me that?” Thranduil asked, smile still resting happily on his lips.

“I’ve told you before.” Bard pointed out, scrunching up his nose. “Lots of times.”

“Tell me again.” Thranduil smiled at him, he liked Bard’s stories even more than everyone else did, but he believed them too even if he couldn’t remember them himself, he knew Bard wouldn’t lie to him.

“Cause that’s your name.” Bard grinned again before flopping down on the grass next to him. “Back when we were us and you were a great elven king and I slayed the dragon.”

“Then what?” Thranduil pushed as Bard teased and stopped before his favourite parts of the story.

“And then we fought in a big battle and I became king of dale and you coronated me and stayed to help us rebuild.” Bard continued, Thranduil rolling over and propping his head on his hand while he listened.

“And then.” He pressed again, nudging Bard with his knee.

“And then we fell in love and got married and you were always a pain in my butt when we had to have meetings with the stinky dwarves and you would brain my kids’ hair and Legolas was older than me because he was an elf like you which was weird and you helped me learn how to be a good king.” Bard told him, he had told them absolutely everything he could remember, Thranduil had heard it all before, but he loved hearing it all over and over, and every year Bard seemed to remember something else.

“Do you love me now as well?” Thranduil teased but Bard just looked up at him, face open.

“Always and forever.” Bard promised him. “Do you love me?”

“Every day and in every way.” Thranduil told him, and the adults giggled at them and called them cute when they said they loved each other, they didn’t understand. “I don’t remember being an elf, but it’s weird, even though I don’t remember I know everything you tell me about it true, it feels right.”

“I miss being there, but I don’t mind being here either, not so long as you’re here too.” Bard smiled, both of them watching the clouds, Thranduil’s hand finding his own and linking their fingers together.

“Tell me about the time you got lost in the woods again.” Thranduil requested, knocking his foot against Bard’s, it was one of Thranduil’s favourites.

“Well, I wanted to surprise you because I hadn’t seen you all spring because you were really really busy trying to get rid of all the spiders and organising one of your festivals and we weren’t really a we yet but I loved your stupid butt already and missed my friend a lot so I wanted to see you and I knew you would like it if I turned up and surprised you. So I packed a bag and Tilda was mad at me for going without her but the forest was still dangerous and she was only little so she had to stay in Dale, but she wrote you a letter that I was under orders to deliver.

“So I got on my horse and I set off and I got well and truly lost in that big old forest of yours before the day was out which was especially bad because you weren’t expecting me and wouldn’t realise I was lost until I was due back in Dale which wasn’t for a little while so I was getting a bit worried. But as luck would have it I got attacked by a nest of spiders, horrible huge things that we don’t have in the world any more, and I was fighting them as best I could but there was only one of me and lots and lots of them and I wasn’t going to win. But then just as I was sure I was dead meat, you and a troop of elves hunting the nest burst out from the trees and fought them off like you were doing some beautiful dance.

“You came over to me as soon as it was safe and you were all worried and checking me over for injuries even as I told you I was fine and you kept telling me I was stupid for going out there alone and you were babbling on and wouldn’t shut up and kept shaking like you thought I was going to drop dead any second, and then you kissed me for the first time ever and I felt like I was flying.” Bard finished the story, knowing that was Thranduil’s favourite part, Bard blushed beet red to the tips of his ears when Thranduil pressed a little kiss to his cheek as he liked to do.   

“Where do you think all that stuff went?” Thranduil asked after a little while, waking Bard from where he had been dozing.

“What do you mean?” Bard replied, both of them turning onto their sides to look at each other as they spoke.

“Elves and dragons and hobbits and magic and stuff. That whole world.”

“I don’t know. I think it used to be this world a long time ago and it’s just different now.” Bard answered, touching Thranduil’s ear gently and running a finger over the smooth curve that he remembered being pointed.

“Why do you think we ended up back here?”

“I don’t know.” Bard shrugged. “Maybe we weren’t done yet.”

“What do you mean?” Thranduil asked but Bard didn’t want to explain this time, because what he meant was what he hoped, that they had been sent back so they could have their happy ending this time.

He never told Thranduil about how it all had ended for them, how Bard had been caught by a stray orc pack, how he had not died gently, nor did he tell him the stories Tom had told him, that the great Elvenking Thranduil had found his mortal love struck down alone, dead and abused and dumped on the ground to rot, or how Tom had told him about the great Elvenking Thranduil who’s sorrow darkened the forests again, who forced himself to survive for his son, who promised that same son that he would take the ships to Valinor only to disappear back to his forest and finally fade as soon as his son had left the shores. That the great Elvenking Thranduil had felt only relief from his many sorrows when he finally let go.

There were parts of the story Bard never told Thranduil.

He felt too young to know those parts, but he also felt older beyond this life’s years.

“I don’t know. Maybe we’re just lucky and get to be together all over again.” Bard smiled, hoping that his sadness over the last parts of their story didn’t show on his face, Thranduil didn’t need to know those parts.

“I like that.” Thranduil smiled, tucking down in the grass next to Bard for a little while before they both got up and played in the creek.

The water was pure and refreshing and warmed by the summer sun and they splashed around and laughed for the rest of the afternoon until they knew their parents would be looking for them, running back towards the little town hand in hand and letting the sun dry their clothes as they went.

“Tell me about when we got married.” Thranduil shouted happily as they ran back through the woods, hand in hand this time.

“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen and all the kids were there and you insisted on throwing a huge party for both our people and we danced all night long.” Bard told him, tangling their other hands together and spinning Thranduil around a few times, both of them laughing hard as they did before falling in a heap on the ground.

“Are you gunna marry be in this life too?” Thranduil asked, silver blonde hair splaying out on grass around his head.

“Depends if you wanna marry me?” Bard shrugged, picking at the grass beside him and trying to play it off as best a child could.

“Of course I want to marry you too.” Thranduil laughed, shoving Bard’s shoulder and making Bard smile to himself.

“Fulke, Egil, time for supper.” Was called from the little house on the outskirts by Bard’s mother, Bard screwed his nose up at the use of those names, they did not belong to them, it felt alien to Bard to be called that, for Thranduil to be called that.

Thranduil sighed and heaved himself up from the ground, offering Bard a hand and pulling him up as well, the pair of them dusting off and heading towards Bard’s house, their parents usually took turns feeding them, inseparable as they were. 

“Ma I _told you_ , they’re not our names.” Bard grumbled as they came into the house, he didn’t want to have to try and explain it to his mother again.

“I’m sorry, Bard and Thranduil, time for supper.” She corrected with a roll of her eyes, no doubt still just thinking Bard and Thran were playing their little make-believe games.

Bard tried not to worry about it, he knew no one took kids seriously, but that when they grew up people would listen to him and believe him when he told them all about who he and Thranduil used to be, everything they had done together, the world they had lived in and all the amazing stories that people talked of like folklore but Bard knew to be real history.

But as they grew and moved out from pure childhood, when their ages started to reach double digits and more people weren’t more understanding, in fact they were less. Instead of fond indulgence of their ‘make believe games’ Bard was told off more, scolded when he wouldn’t answer to the name his mother had given him for this life. Thranduil still believed him, would squeeze his hand whenever someone told them to grow up, whenever Bard was told to stop filling Thranduil’s head with nonsense. They weren’t allowed to spend so much time together, they both had chores to see too and the adults seemed to have decided that it would be ‘good for them’ if they spent a little more time apart.  

But they always found some time in the day, even if they got in trouble for running off for a few hours at a time, and they would curl up together by the creek and Thranduil would ask to hear his favourite stories and sometimes Bard had found new ones, tucked away in his memories and revealing themselves as he grew up. Bard worried Thranduil would stop believing him, listen to everyone else when they said Bard just had his head in the clouds, but Thranduil always told him that was impossible, that every time Bard told him one of their stories, something about the past them, it settled in his soul and he knew it was right, like little pieces himself that he didn’t know were missing were being returned by Bard.

It didn’t take Bard long to know he needed to keep his past memories to himself, getting too old for people to find it cute they start to get angry, tell you to stop behaving like a child. He liked spending time with old man Tom, they both seemed to remember something different, though Bard had no idea who he had been before and they never directly spoke of it, Tom just told stories in rhyming verse of the ages of middle earth and the adventures of individuals there and those stories were like finding old friends again.  

They moved into their teenage years and things only got worse, Bard learnt it was best to let everyone call him Fulke, for them to keep their real names for when they were alone, to let everyone else believe they had forgotten about Thranduil and Bard, but how could Bard ever forget such a thing, how could he be expected to forget them. He knew it had been real, he knew his mother knew he still believed it, it was hard to hide something like that from the person you lived with, especially as most memories Bard regained now were unpleasant, the realities of fire, the death of his wife, his own death, cold winters and the constant fear of Thranduil fading when he was gone. Childhood had spared him of such memories, but now they came back to him and he remembered the horrors as well as the happiness. 

Some nights he woke in a fearful sweat, his mother shaking him awake as Bard had nightmares about dragonfire, screaming in his sleep for Thranduil and children he didn’t have anymore, in those moments he knew his mother almost believed everything he said. Almost. Thranduil would sneak into his house and slip into bed with him sometimes and they would curl up together, Bard never had nightmares when they curled up together.

Bard remembered the scars that Thranduil had, remnants of his own dealings with dragons, he remembered how they still hurt Thranduil some nights, how he hated them, how Bard was not the only one who occasionally had nightmares, when he remembered those things he was almost glad Thranduil did not remember, could not remember the hurt. The first time they really kissed in this life Bard found himself stroking his thumb over Thranduil’s left cheek, it was a gesture he had done a thousand times before, Thranduil told him he was a wonderful kisser, Bard knew it was because he could remember kissing Thranduil before, remembered everything he enjoyed best.

Then Thranduil’s family moved and there was nothing Bard nor Thranduil could do to stop them. Even Bard’s mother attempted to talk them out of it, but Thranduil’s parents would have none of it. They either didn’t care that they were separating them or thought it would be good for them. Teenagers shouldn’t still believe in magical kingdoms and the fantasy of being kings and slaying dragons after all, they needed to grow up. And besides, boys shouldn’t love boys. That was an elven acceptance that the world seemed to have long since lost.

So kicking and screaming they were pulled away from each other, Bard chased after them but he was no match for the pace of horses, he shouted promises to Thranduil, that he would find him, that they would find each other again, that he would never stop loving him and Thranduil echoed each other them even as his father forcefully held him in trap.

He hated remembering everything they had had, it made him feel like he had lost Thranduil twice and the feeling threatened to swallow him whole. Fate was not kind to force him to remember what it would not let him have again, Bard was not sure if he prayed for the next life or dreaded it even more so.

Bard never found Thranduil again, not in this life, no matter how far and wide he searched, he missed him every day.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Bard despised the roar of the crowd as he emerged from the tunnels, clad in scant armour and holding his usual short sword tight in his hand, his battered shield in the other, knowing that the crowd cheered for him but they would just love to see him fall.

“Tetraites! Tetraites! Tetraites!” The crowd called for him but that wasn’t his name, it made it easier to detach himself from everything that was happening.

He was fighting other gladiators today, he never bothered to learn their names, not when there was an inevitability that they would die, that Bard might be the one forced to do it. These weren’t orcs or trolls or the mindless minions of Sauron, they were men, just men, not even bad men. They were men just like him, with the same shit luck to find themselves toss out into the arena and told to fight to survive.

Gladiators were hardened fighters, Bard hadn’t picked up a sword in this life when he was made a gladiator, the son of a baker, forced into gladiatorial combat because his father could not pay his own debts. Being the son of a baker had made him an underdog, everyone expected him to be one of the first to go down in the first battle he was thrown in, but when the other ten fighters were dead on the floor it was Tetraites, son of a baker, who still stood tall.

They loved him, they didn’t know he had been a king, that he had fought legions of orcs alongside elves and dwarves, they didn’t know he had fought trolls and dragons, they didn’t know that the Elvenking Thranduil, one of the greatest fighters the world had ever seen had taught him how to fight better. They loved the underdog, but he was not an underdog anymore, and though the crowd still professed to love him, he knew how they loved to see a champion fall, they would cheer for that as well.

He knew his style was reminiscent of everything Thranduil had once taught him, how his movements flowed as well as having the brute force Bard had always used behind it. They called him Tetraites, the dancing baker for all that he spun and flew around his opponents; every skill Thranduil had ever taught him saving him even now in this life, though Bard had no idea what he was being saved for. He knew the only reason he held on, the only reason he fought on in the inevitable futility of the arena was the hope that one day he would see Thranduil somewhere.

Bard didn’t know what he would do if Thranduil appeared in the pen one day, forced into becoming a gladiator like Bard. Before he would not have worried about Thranduil holding his own in a fight, but Thranduil had not remembered who he was, he would not remember how to fight and there was no telling what skills his life here might have left him with or without.

But Bard dreaded seeing him in the crowds, just as likely to be cheering for Bard to lose as he was for Bard to win. That was a thought that haunted Bard, after all, Thranduil hadn’t remembered last time, the chances were he wouldn’t remember this time either, if he even was anywhere to be found this time.

Bard still seemed to be the only one who remembered past lives.

The emperor was attending the arena today, that usually meant the fight was bound to be particularly bloody for them, so that they could provide a thrilling enough spectacle for their honoured spectator.  

There were about fifteen other men in the arena, Bard hadn’t been given any instructions which usually meant it was just last man standing, what joy they got out of watching innocent men killing each other Bard did not know, but still he had a desire to survive so survive he did.

Occasionally Gladiators were freed, offered a place in the army, freed on public demand, though Bard did not hold out much hope of that happening, there was a difference in how the public loved him, they loved to watch him fight, they did not love _him_. There were few that could pay his owner enough to let him go, a few of the richer nobles and senators maybe, the emperor himself of course but he had no reason to, none of them did. Bard knew that one day he would fall in that arena, but for now he survived.

Most of the other gladiators avoided him when the fighting began, he had been here the longest, he had a track record in the arena that none of the others could boast. The ones that came for him were arrogant ones, they fell easily with what felt like only a flick of Bard’s wrists and a spin of his feet his sword flowed like water. Quick deaths at least.

He was used to the sound of fighting, the sound of fifteen other gladiators and a roaring crowd had nothing on the inferno of a dragon and the people of Laketown screaming for their lives.

Bard walked deceptively calmly from one opponent to the next, he deftly blocked the blow of his opponent’s sword with his shield, using the momentum to roll the other man’s sword and body forward as Bard side-stepped him deftly and landing a swift uppercut of his blade to the other man’s back. It was a move Thranduil had shown him, it had the crowd cheering at him, at his ease in the area. He spared the crowd a glance and a fake but winning grin, he hated them all, but he knew better than to let them know that, when the crowd turned on him he would not last much longer.

He knew there was someone coming up behind him but he let the crowd think he did not, spinning and disarming him with a swish of his sword, knocking his opponent out with the metal of his shield, he might survive that, leaving him unconscious like that could save his life. Bard winked at the crowd and they loved it, loved the way he seemed to tease them, he hated them, but he needed them to like him if he wanted to survive or he would find himself unarmed in a fight with lions merely so they could have the joy of seeing him torn limb from limb. He needed them to like him, so he made them.

Bard ran to his next opponent, launching himself from the side of the arena in a jump and felling the gladiator with a clean downward slice into his neck, pulling his sword away as he fell, the crowd roared again, Bard had learnt how to give them a show, luckily they never seemed to realise he always tried to give his opponents fast deaths.

He flashed another grin at the crowd and that was when he saw him.

Sat beside the emperor himself, dressed in senatorial garb and with an expression of derision, though it was aimed at the crowds not the gladiators.

Bard just stared. He lost all awareness of what was around him and just stared.  

It had been so long since he had seen that face, that perfect face. The last time he had Thranduil had only been a teenager, not since the days of Dale and Mirkwood had Bard seen him full grown and beautiful like he was again now. His hair was the long blonde silver he remembered, as if the stars themselves were swimming through it, his skin was ivory and his lips were red and his eyes were piercing, icy blue.

He was not ready for those ice blue eyes to lock with his own. Thranduil’s eyes were devoid of recognition, but Bard had always been able to read him well, he loved him too long not to, and Bard saw the interest there as well.

Bard could have broken down and cried in that moment.

He had no idea what expression he was wearing as he watched Thranduil, people were noticing the way he stared, their attention turned to Bard instead of the fighting behind him, wondering what he was doing, what was wrong with him, why he had his back to the fight. Thranduil watched him back, face blank aside from the curiosity in his eyes, Thranduil was the first to break eye contact, his eyes flickered behind Bard, there was a warning in his face when he clamped back on Bard.

Bard spun and blocked the sword just in time, smashing his attackers jaw with his shield and slicing his sword low and across his gut, the gladiator fell. Bard turned and looked back at Thranduil whose eyes remained on Bard before returning to the melee, not enough of them left for him to afford more distraction.

There were four other fighters left still standing and somehow they had the brains to all advance on Bard at once, but he had fought worse odds than this many times over, and he was not about to die when he had only just found him again.

The fight did not last long, it wasn’t hard to knock the fastest attackers sword aside and spin, successfully getting himself out of the circle they had caught him in, cutting the other gladiator’s throat as he did so and dropping his shield to take his sword as he fell.  It had been Thranduil that liked to fight with two swords and no shield, and it was the technique Thranduil had shown him all those ages ago that he used now. Maybe he spared a vain hope that it would somehow jog Thranduil’s memory now, though he knew how unlikely that was in reality.

With two swords and fast movements it was easy to fell the other three gladiators, they were not coordinated or practiced enough to threaten him, even attempting to take him down together, the fluid slashes and arcs of his sword Thranduil had taught him made him perfect, moving him from one opponent to the other before their swords had even been swung. The last gladiator standing alive to fight him managed to parry his first strike and block the second with his shield, but he wasn’t ready for Bard to kick his legs out from under him.

“Tetraites! Tetraites! Tetraites!” The crowd roared for him to finish his opponent and Bard hated them. He did it quickly and hoped the gladiator could read the regret and apology in his face.

Usually now he would play for the crowds, strut around for them, look for all the world like he was proud of what he had done here, fake that flare of arrogance he did not have but the people loved in their winners, but not today.

Today Bard strode back to the emperors box and bowed low, on the surface it was not a surprising action for him to take, but his eyes were locked with the silver haired senator without a single glance spared for the emperor himself.

Reluctantly Bard slowly stood from his bow, eyes staying with Thranduil the whole time before finally forcing himself to turn and walk back towards the tunnel he had entered through, funnelling him back to where the gladiators all bunked and trained which was essentially a prison.

Bard had not forgotten the feeling he got on the back of his neck when he knew those piecing blue eyes were watching him walk away, and now he knew the senator was still watching him as he left.

Bard didn’t know that he had hoped Thranduil – or Claudius Aelianus as he was apparently called in this life – would come see him until he didn’t. It was hardly unheard of for senators and noblemen and even on occasion the emperor himself to recruit from gladiatorial ranks, offer them a route out if they would win some particularly hard fight or prove their loyalty.

But Thranduil never came and Bard allowed it to hurt more than he should, after all, no matter how his eyes might have lingered, Thranduil did not know him. But then, perhaps that was the part which really hurt, the lack of recognition in Thranduil’s face when he looked at him, only the most superficial emotion in his eyes, eyes that Bard was still utterly in love with. That was bound to start taking its toll.

Next time out in the arena it was single combat, Bard knew he should have made a show of it, no one yelled ‘Tetraites!’ in the hope of watching a fight that was over seconds after it had started. He saw Thranduil watching the arena again, Bard bowed to him, it was unorthodox as the emperor was not present, but Bard was glad of that, meant there could be no mistaking who he was bowing to.

He was bowing to his king.

Once again Bard slowly rose and turned to walk back down the tunnel and again he could feel Thranduil’s eye follow him. It seemed he had the senator’s curiosity if nothing else. Bard hoped it was enough, there was nothing he could do unless Thranduil sought him out, confined as he was.  

But once again Thranduil did not, and Bard spent the few days before his next fight hoping at every sound of the door opening or news that someone was coming to observe them training Bard hoped it would be him, and each time it was not Bard ached for him a little more.

The next time Bard was sent out to fight, Thranduil was there again, he held his eyes for as long as he could before he needed to turn his attention to the fight. It was another fight that did not last long, that Bard did not bother to put on a show for, it was over fast and the crowd disappointed in his brusqueness, ignoring them entirely in favour of bowing slowly to Thranduil once more before leaving, feeling those eyes watching him as he went.

And Thranduil did not seek him out.

It became like a routine, at least to Bard and he suspected it did to Thranduil as well. After all, he had never been to the arena before, now he didn’t miss a single one of Bard’s fights. Bard deluded himself with the thought that even though he had no idea who Bard was, Thranduil might still care if he died. Some remnant of their past lives making him feel at least _something_.

Bard’s behaviour was confusing people, he used to be so reliable for giving them a show, now he let his contempt for what they called ‘entertainment’ become clear, knowing the masses would not appreciate it, but unable to stomach the thought that Thranduil might believe him to be some mindless killing machine.

His owners and the fight marshals and organisers were warning him to go back to his old way of fighting with thin threats that he might be finding himself up against unfavourable odds if he did not. But what was truly confusing them was the way he would look and bow at Thranduil. It took Bard a beat to realise who they were talking about when they referred to him as senator Aelianus, but then he realised and merely looked at them with a blank expression, answering their questions with silence. His actions and refusal to answer were not enough to earn him a beating, though he wondered how long that would last.

Bard grew more and more desperate as Thranduil still stayed out of his reach until he became more daring, throwing him a wink from the grounds and revelling in the surprised look in the senator’s face.

For the first time the crowd booed him as he walked out of the arena. Another uninteresting fight, another time he has proven to care more for an aloof senator than the masses’ entertainment, it was a dangerous game for Bard to play, but it was worth it when Thranduil appeared in front of his cell that evening.

Bard immediately came to the bars of his cell, only at the last moment managing to stop himself from reaching out to him, gripping tight the iron of his cell instead, until the knuckles on his hands went white.

Thranduil didn’t say anything, just watched him, and Bard dare not open his mouth for fear only a sob would be released. He was shaking with the effort to stay calm, not to lunge for him and sob into his clothes.

“You are intriguing.” Thranduil said finally and Bard shut his eyes, letting the sound of the deep melodic voice wrap around him, he had missed it. “Why do you look to me? Why do you bow?”

“You are beautiful.” Bard said, it was not the answer to the question, but he hoped Thranduil would take it as one, it was another truth anyway.

Thranduil surprised at his words, at what he probably imagined to be Bard’s boldness, not him merely repeating words said many times over to the man he loved.

“I have been called handsome before.” Thranduil commented, brushing the compliment off.

“I called you beautiful.”

“Indeed you did. The vice of the Greeks?” Thranduil trailed off, only half in question, when Bard offered no denial Thranduil’s expression turned more considering. “Most would not be so open about that.”

“I am already a gladiator. What else can they to do to me?” Bard shrugged it off.

“True. You should be more careful regardless, it is not safe for you to allow the crowd to turn on you as they are now.”

“Safe.” Bard snorted. “What about my profession is safe in the first place?”

“Do not be deliberately obtuse. You know what is bound to happen if you continue to refuse to play to the crowds.” Thranduil answered, voice low and Bard ached for it to say the things it used to.

“Why do you care?” Bard asked, voice strained, he knew Thranduil could not remember, but he couldn’t bear the thought that no sentiment remained, however faint and confusing.

“As I said. I find you intriguing. That is a rare thing.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No. There is something else…though I find it hard to place a name to.” Thranduil answered haltingly and Bard felt his heart jump into his throat, unable to stop himself from reaching out and grabbing Thranduil’s hand, just as soft and elegant as he always remembered. 

Thranduil startled at Bard’s actions, his impudence, but he had no fear in his eyes and he did not draw his hand away as he easily could.

“Free me.” Bard didn’t even try to get the pleading tone out of his voice.

“Why would I do that?” Thranduil asked with a raised eyebrow and Bard fought with a million different answers, he fought the urge to tell the truth, that Bard loved him and if he would just remember Thranduil would know that he loved him too, that he was going to die in here if he didn’t and probably soon, that Bard couldn’t cope with the knowledge that Thranduil would leave him in here, that that would kill him faster than any sword.

“Because I am asking you to.” Is what he finally said.

Thranduil watched him, inquisitive eyes running all over Bard as if trying to find the answer to why he did not want him to die written somewhere in his appearance.

“I do not wish to see you die.” Were Thranduil’s last words before he gently pulled his hand from Bard’s and walked from the room.

Bard hit the bars of his cell. He did not know what that meant. It could as easily be Thranduil asking him to start playing the crowd again as it could be an indication that he was going to get him out.

Once again Bard had no choice but to wait.

It was when Bard was not handed his usual sharp sword or his trusted shield that he knew Thranduil’s warning was pointless anyway, it seems he had already gone too far. The crowd had tried of him enough to take more pleasure in the chance to see him die than they would from watching him fight and win anymore.

As he walked out he saw Thranduil in his usual place, but he was not looking at Bard, he was having what looked like a heated conversation with the person Bard recognised as the master here, the one who decided who fought whom.

Bard wasn’t even surprised when the rest of the gladiators were properly armed and wearing matching tunics, idly he wondered what story they were supposed to be reacting, maybe he was supposed to be a tyrant or a particularly blood thirsty warrior. Either way it was almost twenty against one, and they all only had one target in mind. He could not see how he was going to survive this.

He managed to catch Thranduil’s eye before the fighting began, Thranduil’s usually composed face was almost frantic, looking around himself as if he could find something to aid Bard with, but there was nothing. Bard took solace in knowing he wanted to help him, that somewhere in his soul enough remained of what they were that Thranduil barely knew him, yet wanted to help him even now.

For a little while maybe it looked like Bard might survive it, he certainly managed to half their number. But it was inevitable what would happen in the end, that one of them would be organised enough to get behind him while others were attacking his front relentlessly.

He felt the sword in his back and didn’t scream, instead he looked to Thranduil, the only sight n the world he wished to see.

Thranduil held his gaze for a few perfect moments filled with emotion that could have been before looking away, unable to watch any longer.

Bard closed his eyes and fell to the floor.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Bard took a deep breath and let the fresh spring air fill his lungs, the smells of the river and the country around it centring him somehow.

His life here was not so unlike his life in Middle Earth had been, he ran creates of grain and vegetables and sometimes even fish down the river from one town to another. Perhaps he liked it just because it reminded him of that life, taking the barrels from the woodland realm back to Laketown, he felt comfortable doing it.

He liked the people in his town well enough, he didn’t recognise anyone from any of his other lives, and Bard found that this was a relief, it was hard to both know someone and have no idea who they are now.

The barge that he took down the river was similar to the one he had had all those ages ago, it was probably why he had chosen it, although it hadn’t been a conscious thought at the time. Sometimes he could fool himself, just for a moment, into imagining he was back there, that in the trees on the banks the elves of the woodland realm were watching, dwarves in his barrels, hobbits just around the corner, seeking adventure. But it only ever lasted for a moment and that was probably for the best.

It was a relatively peaceful life in this new age, for Bard anyway, he was strong enough that he was general left alone by anyone who might be looking to start a fight in the town, not that that happened too often. But life in Rome and Middle Earth had left it a constant vigil, ever ready to encounter some danger, and that was probably what saved his life on this day.

He knew the river well enough that he could navigate it with his eyes closed, but instead he always kept an eye as far down the river as he could see and an ear out for trouble ahead.

Bard heard it long before he saw it, the distant sound of clamouring and shouting and the unmistakable sounds that went along with killing. He slowed the barge down and picked up his long bow, quiver already on his back, he checked his two axes were still at his hips. When he could see unfamiliar long boats just coming into view around the bend he veered the barge into the bank and out of sight, tying it to the land and sneaking unseen on to the bank.

The noises were louder, he knew how badly protected the town was from outside attackers, there were only a few real fighters among them, and though the all the men would take up arms if they must they were not practiced fighters by any means.

Bard kept low and found high ground, able to see the town, what he saw scared even him. The men – and indeed some women – he could see pillaging the town had the height of elves with all the strength and power of dwarves, he had not seen such ferocious fighters since the days of old.

Bard crouched and tried to keep out of sight as he notched an arrow into his bow, loosing it and watching one of the invaders dropping where he stood. He knew it would not be long before someone figured out where the arrows were coming from so Bard worked quickly, firing arrow after arrow, not a single one of them missing its mark. It was only a raiding party, not a massive force, so his fifteen arrows made a significant difference, each one felling its own target before his quiver was empty.

Some of the raiders were looking angrily up onto the verge where he was hidden, but they did not seem to be able to see him. Bard left his bow tucked into a bush, knowing it would only hinder his ability to move and crept along the bank, slipping down and out of sight into the town, an axe in each hand, small and completely dissimilar to the ones the dwarves used to favour, these were for swift two handed fighting, not slow heavy blows at the dwarves had liked with their massive axes.

He came upon one of the raiders as he rounded one of the houses, far taller and larger than him but he fell before he even seemed to compute that Bard was in front of him. The next one he came across put up some fight. But Bard had spent his last life as a gladiator and in his first he had fought all manner of creatures, the man in front of him had never stood a chance on his own.

Three more down and Bard heard orders being shouted in a language he did not know, they could be shouting for a retreat or to converge on his position for all he knew. It became clear a few moments later, taking down another of their invaders Bard noticed the rest running from the town with everything they could carry. Bard did not go after them, he could not take them all in an open space.

Bard rounded another corner at a jog and raised his axe to strike down the raider he came across.

But the face he saw knocked the air right from him and had him stumbling backwards, dropping the raised axe he had almost used to kill the man he had loved so many times.

“Thran.” Bard gasped, reaching out for him.

He drew it back just in time as Thranduil – whoever this Thranduil was – growled and swiped his sword at Bard’s outstretched hand.

Dread descended on Bard as Thranduil advanced when he stepped back, forced to use his remaining axe to block Thranduil’s next attack. But he never did more than block, he couldn’t attack, he couldn’t.

“Thran, please don’t do this.” Bard begged as he deflected another blow, Thranduil was a good fighter still but he was no elf and didn’t have the benefit of memories of past lives fighting too. “It’s me Thran, its Bard.” Bard was pleading and then Thranduil said something in a language Bard did not recognise and he realised Thranduil couldn’t even understand what he was saying.

Thranduil kept coming at him, growing frustrated at Bard’s constant deft dodges and deflections of his blows, no doubt wondering why the Saxon he was fighting was refusing to strike at him. But this couldn’t go on forever, at some point Thranduil would hit him unless he stopped it now.

“I’m really sorry about this.” Bard grimaced even though Thranduil couldn’t understand him, then he took a deep breath feigned to the right, spinning left as Thranduil started his lunge, getting behind the blonde and landing a blow with the blunt of his axe of the back of his head, knocking Thranduil out cold on the floor.

The rest of the raiders were leaving, running with whatever plunder they could carry, Bard stood vigil as they did, making sure they were all leaving, risking a sweep of the streets in their small town before returning to Thranduil’s side. He waited there until much of the commotion had died down before scooping Thranduil up from the floor.

As he carried Thranduil, one arm under his knees the other around his back, an unwanted memory was forced onto him, of carrying Thranduil this way on many happier occasions, the Elvenking tipsy and giggling into his neck as Bard carried him to their bed for the night. Bard did not want that memory now, not when Thranduil had been trying to kill him, not when he had knocked him out, not when Thranduil was going to hate him when he woke.

“One to interrogate?” One of the townsmen asked, jogging up beside Bard, thinking he knew why Bard had taken him alive.

“You will not touch him.” Bard growled, he hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive, his hands had tightened on the man in his arms.

The townsman – Almund – looked at him strangely, his eyes flickered to the way Bard was holding the raider, he hadn’t noticed his thumb stroking gently against his leg until Almund looked.

“You will not touch him.” Bard said, his voice sounded dangerous, Almund backed away from him, looking like he thought Bard had gone mad.

No one else approached him, but they whispered as Bard took Thranduil into his house. He hated himself as he found manacles and chained Thranduil to a sturdy part of the house, he couldn’t risk Thranduil getting out and hurting someone. He checked he was still unconscious and left his house, giving a warning look to all the people watching him, he had no idea what they were thinking and he didn’t much care to know either.

As soon as he was outside he found he didn’t want to stray far from his house, worrying for what the townspeople would try to do to Thranduil if he did, he caught a boy and offered him a loaf of bread if he would run to the church and bring one of the missionaries back with him.

Bard returned to his house and found he didn’t know if he was protecting the others from Thranduil or Thranduil from everyone else.

Thranduil woke after a little while, he shouted angrily at Bard and tried to escape his bonds but he couldn’t, Bard held his hands up and promised he meant no harm but he was not sure if Thranduil understood any of it. At least he accepted the food Bard offered him without much protest.

Eventually the missionary arrived, hesitating and fixing Bard with a confused expression as he took in the man manacled in the corner, Bard had no doubt the townsfolk has already told him what Bard had done.

“Do you speak his language?” Bard asked, not bothering with niceties.

“It depends where he is from.” The monk answered, luckily Thranduil took that moment to shout something and shake his manacle, the missionary wrinkled his nose and looked back to Bard.

“It is Norse. He must be from the Scandinavian region. They are violent pagans.” His last words were a scolding, a warning to Bard.

“Teach me how to speak it.” Bard demanded, ignoring the warning.

“Whatever for.” The monk asked as if it wasn’t obvious.

“Because I wish to be able to speak with him. Do not ask me why.” Bard said firmly, holding up a hand when the monk had opened his mouth to ask just that.

The missionary was reticent at first but eventually agreed to teach Bard some basic phrases of the language, all the while Thranduil watched them quietly, face guarded. By the time the missionary left Bard still did not know much, but it would be a starting point.

He sat down on the floor, carefully out of Thranduil’s reach although he wanted nothing more than to reach out to him, it had been so long since he had felt him.

“Bard.” He said, pressing a hand to his chest to try and indicate his name, Thranduil watched him and tilted his head to the side. “My name is Bard.” He said, trying to wrap his tongue around the unfamiliar sounds, it reminded him of when he had tried to learn Sindarin, though that had been accompanied by laughter and teasing from Thranduil, not cold, calculating eyes.

“Leif.” Thranduil answered, Bard knew he would forget and call him Thranduil.

“I am not going to hurt you.” Bard said, knowing he was probably getting it wrong, but he held his hands up and Thranduil seemed to understand.

Thranduil said something he did not understand, but as he pointed to the manacle around his ankle Bard understood, he wanted to know if he was a prisoner.

“Will you hurt me?” Bard asked, making up for no doubt mispronouncing a lot of the words by gesturing with his hands.

Thranduil cocked his head to the side again, fixing Bard with a penetrative gaze before speaking in clear English.

“No. I will not hurt you.” Thranduil told him, Bard was so entrance by the voice he remembered so well that it took him a moment to realise the language.

“You speak our language? How?”

“One of those priests came to our village. He’s how we found out about this place.” Thranduil accompanied those words with a dangerous smirk. “A few of us learnt the language before coming here.”

“I am sorry.”

“About what?”

“Hitting you on the head.” Bard said awkwardly, he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through Thranduil’s silver hair and put something cool on the bump that must be there.

“I still cannot work out why you did not just kill me. Do you intend to torture me for information?” Thranduil asked, Bard recoiled from the question in horror.

“I would _never_. Thran I could never.”

“Who is Thran?” Thranduil asked, eyes flashing with that familiarly curious look he had always gotten when he discovered something new about the culture of men.

“Sorry. I… you look like someone I used to know.” Bard sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair just to have something to do with it.

“Is that why you refused to attack me?”

“Yes.”

“That was foolish.”

“I couldn’t hurt you. I’d rather let you kill me.” Bard said, finding the key in his pocket.

“That is also foolish.”

“Perhaps.” Bard shrugged, leaning over Thranduil and removing the manacle from his ankle.

“That was foolish too.” Thranduil said, moving quickly and pushing Bard back, pinning him to the floor with strong hands holding his wrists, the rest of his weight sat against Bard’s legs.

It was a harsh echo of playful nights spent in the Elvenking’s bedchamber.

Bard sighed sadly and lay docile and pliant under Thranduil’s weight, he could not meet his eyes.

“Fight me off.”

“No.”

“I know you can. You forced our raiding party to abandon and run simply to have the manpower left to man the ships. You could fight me off right now.”

“No. I could never fight you off.”

“You speak as if you knew me.”

“I did once.”

“I would remember you.”

“I wish you would.” Bard smiled sadly that time, managing to meet Thranduil’s clear blue eyes.

“I don’t understand.” Thranduil said, Bard supposed he hadn’t expected him to. Thranduil leant down and Bard flinched, it left a softer expression on Thranduil’s face. “I will not hurt you.”

“You already are.”

“I am not so heavy.” Thranduil said, but his hands released their grip on Bard’s wrists regardless, settled on either side of Bard’s head instead.

“No, you are not.” Bard agreed, he had always been surprisingly light.

“So I am not hurting you.”

“Your eyes hurt me.” Bard answered, the lack of recognition there, the absence of love. That would always hurt him.

“You confuse me still. My expression is not vicious.” Thranduil puzzled and Bard just shook his head, begging him to forget it, to change the subject, but he would not. “Explain it.” Bard never could deny him anything.

“You do not recognise me.”

“The way you look at me…” Thranduil trailed off slowly, as if something were beginning to dawn.

“I missed you Thran.” Bard breathed, he needed to say it once.

“I would call you mad but your eyes are not lying.”

“Doesn’t a madman believe he is sane?” Bard laughed self-deprecatingly, Thranduil seemed to ignore his words, studying his face as if trying to remember something, though Bard knew he could not.

“You would let me kiss you.” Thranduil mused, as if he were figuring something out, just as clever and shrewd as he always had been. “We were lovers.”

“You were my world.” Bard answered, it was true after all, still was it would seem.

“What happened?”

“I died.” Bard told him, he seemed to die every time, even now they were both mortal.

“Oh.” Thranduil said, the information saddened him though it was clear from his face he was not sure why it effected him so completely.

Bard was not ready for the soft lips against his own. Thranduil pulled back sharply when he noticed Bard’s tears. Bard shook his head and screwed his eyes shut when Thranduil looked at him with confusion.

“Not yet.” Bard said, he couldn’t cope with it yet, Thranduil climbed off of him and sat beside him, it was a strange silence, like neither of them were sure why it was so comfortable.

Days passed and Thranduil stayed with him, when Bard asked him if he wanted to leave, to go to his home, Thranduil said he could not sail there alone anyway, that he was content here for the time, that he would only go if Bard came with him even though he hardly knew him yet. Bard would follow him anywhere.

He let Bard call him Thranduil, Bard was grateful.

The townspeople did not like that he had saved a Viking, but he had also saved the town and Thranduil had not hurt anyone since so they were forced to accept it.

“Why are you so sad when you look at me?” Thranduil asked him one day, he was brushing out his hair with a comb Bard had made him, Thranduil had always been particular about his hair.

“I have lost you three times already. I do not know what a fourth will do to me.”

“You have not lost me yet.”

“All lives end.”

“You remember each one?”

“I seem to.”

“Tell me about them.”

And so Bard did. Thranduil rankled at Bard’s stories of separation and death, he drew Bard close when he told them and would fall asleep to his words.

“I miss my son.” Thranduil said one day and Bard was struck with a flood of guilt, he had kept him from going home, Thranduil must have read it in his expression. “If you had no knocked me out one of us would be dead. I am glad that did not happen. It is not your fault but fate’s.  I am glad to have met you again.”

Bard smiled and found his thoughts drifting to Legolas.

“I knew your son, in our first lives.” Bard said, Thranduil looked at him curiously and urged him to go on. “He was called Legolas and had yellow blonde hair that he pulled back from his face in two neat little braids, one long one at the back. He was skilled with a bow and had your blue eyes, graceful and agile in everything he did – much like yourself – and he loved his people but had no desire to become king. You used to tell me how when he was just a small elfling he would climb the tallest trees and have you running all over the woods trying to find him, apparently he had a habit of falling asleep up there too.” Bard finished with a smile, finally noticing the strange expression on Thranduil’s face.

“If I had any doubt you were telling the truth before I assure you I no longer do.”

“Why?”

“Aside from the name you just described my son. Right down to one of his more stress inducing childhood habits and how he likes his hair.” Thranduil was smiling at him too, it made Bard wonder if he could have his children back with him in these lives, or perhaps Thranduil had found the wife he had lost, Bard supposed he would never know.

“You will see him again. I promise.” Bard said, even if not in this life, he knew it to be true.

That time he let Thranduil kiss him. It was slow and careful and chaste and it did not prompt some memory from Thranduil but it was beautiful all the same.

“If your people return, will you wish to go home?” Bard asked one day, Thranduil had joined him on the barge as he usually did these days now.

“Only if you would come with me.” Thranduil answered from where he was perched, ever elegant, at the nose of the boat, Bard knew he would not fall in, his grace and balance were not elven but still exceptional.

“I would follow you anywhere.” Bard told him honestly, it made Thranduil smile.

The townspeople left them alone mostly, respect for what Bard had done during the raid convinced them to leave the pair of them be, but they were not liked. There was no secret between what they were, Thranduil did not hold back his kisses when they were out of their house much like he never had in Middle Earth either. Bard was too relieved to have them back again to even try and stop them. He didn’t want to stop them anyway. He loved how free Thranduil was with them, with his affection.

It was intoxicating.

Bard had no idea how he was going to stand it being taken away from him again, when this life inevitably ended, but for now he focused on what he had, let it consume him and warm his soul.

In the beginning Bard had given up his bed for Thranduil, though it had not taken long for Thranduil to convince him to share, to stop being so foolish and sleeping on the ground. Still even now they did no more than kiss, Bard simply wanting to hold Thranduil and Thranduil content to be held, their lives had left no room for tenderness in this new world it would seem, until now that was.

“You know that I love you?” Thranduil said one day, sat in a meadow, empty save for themselves, it made Bard look up from the book he had, warmth flooding his heart. “I have for some time but I only realise now that I have never said it before.”  It must have been almost a year since the raid against their villiage.

“You truly mean that?” Bard asked, he had been too scared to ask, too beaten down by various lives to believe it would happen again.

“Quite completely.” Thranduil smiled, crawling over to Bard and kissing him, body settled in Bard’s lap.

Bard felt some intense emotion, some mix of love, relief and happiness flooding over him and he kissed Thranduil’s neck, making it wet with his unbidden tears.

“I do not remember you.” Thranduil mused aloud. “But my soul knew you, I think, whether my mind remembered you or not.”

“I love you.” Bard breathed, he wondered if the pulse point in his neck still made Thranduil shiver when kissed and found that it did.

He stripped Thranduil’s shirt from him and found that his nipples were still the dusty pink he remembered, were just as sensitive as he remembered. His skin was as soft under his lips as he remembered, just as easy to bruise with his sucking kisses, ghosting his lips along the insides of his thighs still made him squirm.

Bard knew he body so intimately he was able to pull him apart at the seams even as Thranduil discovered Bard’s body for what he believed was the first time.

Bard supposed someone had seen them in the meadow because when they reached home they found it burning, villagers watching them with hateful expressions from the shadows, still all too scared to confront either of them directly. He had slain a dragon, fire did little to scare him. Bard made Thranduil promise to wait outside, remembering the scars the Elvenking had used to hide, as he dashed inside the house.

There were few things he could save, but among them were their weapons. The townsfolk fled to their houses when they saw him emerge from the burning wreck with their small armoury. He had no intention of harming them, but it made him glad to see them hide, all he had ever done was protect them after all, and they hated him for loving.

They refused to leave, merely rebuilt their home, both more than capable of doing so, it angered the other people and that drove them all. They rarely moved around without their weapons, it stopped any nastier encounters.

The next month another raiding party, Thranduil’s people, landed again.

Instead of protecting the town against them, this time Bard left with them. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Bard liked Florence, the explosion of culture that seemed to be going on around him constantly, the colours and the clamour, he liked the freedom, the constant bustle of people moving in and out and through the city.

He was still only young, just nineteen years of age. He spend his days half distracted looking out of a flash of silver blonde hair. Thoughts of their last life warmed him to his very core, the long life they had spent together had been happy and full and had ended only with old age and love.

Bard breathed deep and shut his eyes, indulging himself again and letting the memories fill him up and then promptly burning his hand in the fire, snatching it back with a yelp and letting the blade clatter to the floor.

Bard knew that was the last straw even before the blacksmith started shouting at him for his constant clumsiness and empty-headedness, Bard could hardly help the way his thoughts would run away into the past. Needless to say that by the time he had finished being shouted at he was no longer a blacksmith’s apprentice. 

Bard supposed he had learnt to roll with the punches in life by now, but unfortunately he still needed some way of feeding himself, something which he had just lost along with his apprenticeship. Bard sighed to himself and walked down the busy streets, hoping something would jump out at him, he was young and strong and clever, it shouldn’t be too hard for him to find something else.

But what caught his eye was not what he expected.

An advert from an artist named Fiorentino written in sloping handwriting searching for live models to draw.

Usually Bard would find more permanent labour work, something that would teach him a skill (although in all honestly he had already known the basics of smithing from his various past lives), but being a life model sounded diverting if nothing else. A nice change from his normal, if he was what the artist was looking for as well, Bard knew most of them could be very particular.

He fit the basic description of what the advert was looking for, male, young, and attractive (though it used a great many other words to avoid stating that directly). The way it was written made him laugh, making it clear that if you did not fit the categories to the artist’s satisfaction you would not be getting the modelling job.

Bard only realised he had taken the advert when it was still in his hands ten minutes later as he searched the streets for the address written there.

A disgruntled old man told him the artist lived in the studio above so Bard climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

He was knocked back and smiled at the fates when the artist opened it.

Thranduil.

It made him smug to see Thranduil falter as well, unable to keep the way he looked Bard over appreciatively at all subtle.

“Are you here about the modelling?” Thranduil asked, Bard would never be ready for that voice, so rich and deep and melodic.

“I am, though now I feel rather inadequate.” Bard teased, leaning against the door frame, Thranduil looked confused but beckoned him to come in anyway.

“What are you talking about, you’re perfect.” Thranduil brushed off Bard’s comment before seeming to realise what he himself had said and a slight dusting of pink appearing over his cheeks.

“Anything you drew from me would pale next to the artist drawing it.” Bard said smiling at Thranduil, he looked so free in this world, long silver hair braided, sleeves somehow pristine from paint, though his forearms were not where he had pushed them up, and there was a smudge of charcoal on his smooth cheek.

“What do you mean?” Thranduil asked, affronted as if Bard had meant to insult his art.

“I only meant that you are very beautiful. You could paint the most skilful masterpiece of all time, and it would still look plain compared to you.” Bard said and Thranduil’s cheeks reddened again.

“What’s your name?” Thranduil asked.

“Bard.” He answered.

“Unusual name.”

“Not where I am from.”

“And where is that?”

“A long way away.” Bard smiled and he knew it was melancholy even though he had not intended it to be, Thranduil gave him a soft look.

“Can you stand in the middle of the room please?” Thranduil asked, and Bard didn’t know if his voice was shy or coy, but he did as he was bid, Thranduil coming over, hands clearly itching to manoeuvre him how he wanted. “May I?”

“Of course.” Bard smiled, letting Thranduil’s hands push and shift him into the pose he wanted.

After that Thranduil set to work, studying Bard’s form and drawing against an easel that Bard could not see the contents of but would guess was beautiful simply from who was drawing it. He took the opportunity to watch the man he loved and had found once more. Thranduil’s brow creased in concentration as he worked, his hands were as elegant and delicate as they had always been, wielding paintbrushes and charcoal in this life instead of a sword.

Bard caught the way Thranduil’s eyes would pause on him in places, drinking him in just like he used to when he was the Elvenking. Bard liked the quiet between them as Thranduil worked, liked the opportunity just to be around him again, like he was acclimatising to the intensity of his feelings for the man once more.

When the day was over Thranduil asked him to come back again tomorrow and Bard smiled, saying he would come back until Thranduil tired of him, it made Thranduil blush a pretty pink that Bard wanted to discover for the first time in this life.

“Would you remove your shirt?” Thranduil asked him the next day, striving for his voice to sound nonchalant, but Bard grinned anyway, especially as Thranduil found it difficult to detach his eyes from his chest once he revealed it.

“I would remove whatever you asked. I am your life model after all.” Bard teased, letting the suggestion hang in the air and seeing Thranduil swallow thickly.

“Just your shirt is fine.” Thranduil’s voice was quiet, Bard was forced to consider that he had never been attracted to a man before in this life, that he was convinced it was wrong as so many were these days, Bard gentled his expression, he did not wish to overwhelm Thranduil, only to love him, if he would permit it. He could be patient.

The days past and each day Bard came and Thranduil drew, his easel inching closer to where Bard would stand each time, Bard had no idea how many sketches Thranduil must have done by now, moving Bard into new poses with tentative, delicate hands that would linger on the contours of his abs before pulling away as if burned.

Days merged into weeks and they had found their own routine, Bard would arrive in the morning and leave only when the light began to fail Thranduil. Their conversation was easy and Bard was careful not to push, all but sure now that this Thranduil had never thought of men the way he was clearly thinking and struggling with now. Bard wanted to take his hands and gentle kiss him, to assure him that there was nothing wrong with what he was feeling, but he had no idea if that would spook Thranduil more, ask him not to come back.

“It is the strangest thing.” Thranduil murmured one day, paintbrush in hand and eyes trained on the canvas in front of him.

“What is?” Bard asked, careful not to drop his current pose, though the annoyed creases it gave Thranduil’s eyes when he did were rather adorable.

“It’s almost as if my hands know how to draw you even without any help from my mind or my eyes.”

“You have drawn me an awful lot these past few weeks.”

“Even right at the start, it felt like this. You inspire something in me.” Thranduil said quietly and Bard would have called him a romantic but he did not want to make Thranduil nervous, he knew he would have to wait for Thranduil to be ready to make an advance himself this time. “Though apparently I don’t inspire you to hold still.” Thranduil grumbled and Bard grinned, trying not to melt into Thranduil’s touches as he manoeuvred him back into the pose he wanted.

Two days later Thranduil hid behind his easel and blushed heavily as he asked Bard if he would remove his trousers and underthings this time. Bard knew the blush was just for him because he knew he had drawn life models before, it made him smile as he casually dropped the clothes and waited for Thranduil to move him into position, but he didn’t, he just started drawing.

Bard felt not apprehension about being naked before Thranduil, he supposed it was because whether he remembered it or not, Thranduil had seen him naked many times and had never been disappointed before. Besides, the constant hint of pink in his cheeks suggested he was far from disappointed this time either.

The next day Thranduil flushed scarlet as he asked Bard to drape himself along a sofa.

“You can have me however you want me.” Bard grinned with a wink as Thranduil timidly positioned him and regretted it immediately as Thranduil instantly retreated behind his easel.

Thranduil was quieter than usual for the rest of the afternoon, and something heavy hung in the air between them. Bard wanted to reach out to comfort him but knew there was probably nothing worse he could do in that moment, so he kept quiet instead.

The next day when he knocked on the door there was not an answer and he knew that something was wrong. He knocked again and still there was no answer, though something inside him knew that Thranduil was still in his studio.

“Thran – I mean, Fiorentino, I know you’re in there, why won’t you come to the door?” Bard asked, his voice soft but loud enough to be heard. “Are you well?” He asked as his concern grew but still there was no answer, he had never hated something as much as he hated the door between them in that moment. “I am not above kicking the door down.” Bard said, he tried to make it sound humorous but failed.

It did the trick though as the door opened a crack, just enough for Bard too see Thranduil and see that he clearly had not slept, still in the clothes he wore yesterday, dark circles under his eyes and a nervous expression.

“Bard. Apologies but I think I need to move on to a new model.”

“Why?” Bard asked, he didn’t let his heart break, he knew Thranduil was only saying it because he was scared.

“I’ve drawn you a great many times, it is simply time for a new figure.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Excuse me?” Thranduil said, he looked caught off-guard, like he’d deluded himself into thinking Bard would go without resistance.

“Tell the truth.”

“I am.” Thranduil insisted, but Bard knew what he looked like when he wasn’t being truthful.

“No you’re not.”

“Well then what do you want me to say.”

“I want you to be honest about why you want me to go.” Bard said, he didn’t want to have this conversation in a doorway but he wasn’t being given much choice right now.

“Why do you want to stay so much?” Thranduil answered in challenge, though his resolve was clearly breaking slowly.   

“Because I love you.” Bard said, he neither shied away from the words nor shouted them, he said them as they were, simple and true. Thranduil’s hand was shaking where it was holding the door.

“We’ve known each other a month.” Thranduil protested, though it wasn’t a denial of feelings, if anything it suggested he was scared of his own.

“Best month of my life.” Bard smiled, it had been the best month of this life.

“It’s a sin.” Thranduil whispered and Bard’s heart broke a little for him, hating this word and the prejudices it held.

“How can love be a sin?” Bard asked, he didn’t think as he reached out and tucked an errant lock of hair behind Thranduil’s ear, Thranduil didn’t flinch away from the touch though, he allowed it.

“I don’t know. I – I don’t know.” Thranduil said, looking at Bard with wide frightened eyes and Bard lent across the space between them slowly, giving Thranduil time to move away if he wanted, but he didn’t he stayed perfectly still until Bard finally brought their lips together.

It was the softest kiss, impossibly soft and slow, and Thranduil neither responded to it nor pulled away. When Bard ended it he saw the conflict on Thranduil’s face and was worried it was too soon, that Thranduil was going to shut him out completely, instead Thranduil tentatively leant forwards again and recaptured Bard’s lips and heart in one simple movement.

Bard was content to go slow, however long Thranduil took to be comfortable with what was happening between them he was happy to wait. If all Thranduil ever wanted was to kiss that was fine. And Bard knew they probably shouldn’t be doing this in Thranduil’s open doorway where anyone could look up the stairs and see them, but he was too caught up in remembering the taste and feel of Thranduil’s lips to care.

Thranduil the painter kissed differently to Thranduil the great Elvenking, he was tentative and careful where the Elvenking had been demanding and needy in his kisses, though Bard wondered if he would kiss like he used to as the king when he grew more used to the idea. He didn’t kiss like Thranduil the Viking either, it was a new kind of kiss and Bard loved it along with all the others he had discovered.

Bard slowly teased his tongue along the seam of Thranduil’s lips, and seemingly without any conscious thought Thranduil yielded, pretty pink mouth opening for Bard’s tongue, and when he dragged it along Thranduil’s own the painter was moaning into his mouth and whatever reservations he had had broke on the spot as Bard found himself being dragged forward and a door was slammed shut behind them.

“God take your shirt off.” Thranduil whined between kisses, his slender hands stealing under the hem and stroking across Bard’s abs.

“Why, are you going to draw me?” Bard asked even as he stripped off the shirt and that elicited a moan from Thranduil as he drank in Bard’s chest even though he had studied it many times over.

Thranduil smiled shyly at Bard’s comment, but he let Bard slowly drag off his shirt as well, revealing planes of snowy white skin. Bard realised they had never known each other this young before, he stood a few inches taller than Thranduil, though he knew that would not last for long. He was more muscled than Thranduil, he had worked labouring in this life where Thranduil had painted, but he could still recognise the lithe muscles and unexpected strength under Thranduil’s pale skin.

Bard dove forward to kiss Thranduil again, his mouth moving from his lips down his ivory throat to nibble on his collar bone, making Thranduil let out a little whimper as it always had, and Thranduil’s noises had always gone straight to his prick. Bard let one of his hands trail over Thranduil’s chest and toy with one of his dusky pink nipples getting a surprised moan from Thranduil as he threw his arms around Bard’s neck and drew them closer, pressing their bodies together and Bard could feel Thranduil’s interest against him just as surely as Thranduil must be able to feel his.

“We can go slow. We don’t have to do anything right now. Nothing you don’t want.” Bard murmured into Thranduil’s ear, stroking a hand down his smooth back. Thranduil’s ears would never be as sensitive as they were when he was an elf, but his kisses laid there were still earning him little noises.

“I’ve wanted you for weeks.” Thranduil gasped as Bard sucked on his earlobe. “ _Fuck_ , I don’t give a shit if this is wrong. Want you now.” Thranduil moaned the words as Bard licked at his neck before recapturing his lips in a searing kiss.

Bard smiled as he kissed the love of his life, of all his lives, and had every intention of taking it slow, but Thranduil apparently had different ideas and was already scrabbling at the lacings of his trousers and tugging Bard back towards what he could only imagine was the bedroom. He left himself be lead into the other room, kissing Thranduil sound and deep the whole time.

“What do you want to do?” Bard asked as they stood kissing by the bed and promptly lost all the air in his lungs in a guttural moan as Thranduil finally beat the lacings on his trousers and got a delicate hand around his throbbing prick.

“Everything.” Thranduil purred into Bard’s neck, and Bard was wary that might come from a place of inexperience and no knowing just as much as from lust.

“In one day? That might be tricky.” Bard teased, voice hitching as Thranduil experimentally worked his hand down his hard cock.   

“I don’t know. I don’t know what there is. Show me.” Thranduil said breathlessly, kissing Bard’s neck as his hands gently started loosening the ties on his trousers as well.

Bard smiled and pressed Thranduil backward, encouraging him to sit on the bed and crawl up it, following after him, never parting far enough for lips to leave skin. Bard kicked his own trousers off and dragged Thranduil’s down long milky legs, tossing them to the side and leaning back to drink in Thranduil’s beautiful body. A flush of pink ran from Thranduil’s cheeks, to the tips of his ears and touched at his chest as Bard looked, but he made no move to cover himself and Bard ducked down to claim those lips again.

Thranduil gasped and Bard swallowed the noise greedily as they slid together between their bodies. Thranduil’s hips bucked up into the sensation, whimpering as Bard moved his attention to his neck once again, letting them rut together for a while before wrapping a hand around them both, making Thranduil buck off the bed and into his hand with a strangled moan.

“I want you.” Thranduil whimpered, his nails raking through Bard’s hair and across his scalp, sending sparks flying through him.

“I’m yours.” Bard promised and Thranduil dragged him to his lips for a bruising, claiming kiss.

“Will it hurt?” Thranduil asked, his voice was very small and Bard kissed his worries away.

“Not if you take me.” He kissed Thranduil’s chest and straddled his hips, reaching his oil slick hand behind himself to rub teasingly over his entrance before slipping his first finger in, face going slack at the pleasure, Thranduil watching him, his expression entranced. 

“Can I?” Thranduil asked, voice hitching with lust as Bard added a second finger and started scissoring himself open.

Bard lent down to kiss Thranduil and withdrew his fingers from himself, passing Thranduil the oil and guiding his slicked fingers back to his hole. Thranduil’s face was awash with lust when he pressed two slick fingers into Bard, biting his bottom lip a Bard groaned and pressed himself back down on the fingers, urging him to add another, he’d missed the feeling of those clever fingers inside him. Purely by chance, Thranduil brushed his fingers over Bard’s sweet spot and he couldn’t help the way his back arched, the way he moaned out for more.

“What was that?” Thranduil asked, this time actively feeling for the little nub with his fingers and making Bard cry out loudly as he pressed his fingers into it.

“I’ll show you later.” Bard panted, grinning all the while and getting Thranduil to remove his fingers, wanting to feel his length inside him.

“Promise?” Thranduil smirked, and it was a smirk so similar to the ones he used to give as the king that Bard whimpered anew, unable to slow himself as he steadied Thranduil’s cock, slender and pretty like the rest of him, and sunk down with a wanton moan.

Thranduil was making wild chocked off noises, some of which might have been Bard’s name, muffling wetly against the skin of Bard’s chest, hips trying to buck up but unable to with the weight of Bard on top of him. Bard started moving before the delicious burning stretch had fully subsided, rolling his hips and grinning as Thranduil cried out beneath him, hands scrabbling on the sheets before locking around Bard’s hips.

Bard remembered riding Thranduil in his throne back in Middle Earth, he grinned at the memory and luxuriated in the knowledge that he knew everything that Thranduil liked best, proceeding to put that knowledge to good use. Thranduil looked overwhelmed beneath him, face screwed shut in passion as Bard lifted himself up on his cock until just the head remained inside him before dropping back down at an ever increasing pace.

“Thran. Kiss me.” Bard panted, draping himself over Thranduil’s chest and moaning loudly as Thranduil planted his feet on the bed and thrust up, finally having some leverage.

He knew Thranduil wasn’t going to last long, but he too was young in this world and had been without his love’s touch for far too long, and could feel himself hurtling towards an early finish alongside him. Bard didn’t care, they would have plenty of time to go slow, for Thran to learn his body and for Bard to trace the lines of Thranduil’s once again.

They kissed and kissed and Thranduil’s thrusts became erratic, but he somehow managed to start hitting Bard’s prostate on every thrust and then there was a delicate hand around his throbbing arousal and Bard was undone. Crying out his name before biting down on his lip in a way he knew Thranduil loved, his clenching muscles milking Thranduil and dragging his lover over the edge alongside him.

They moved lazily through the aftershocks until Bard collapsed to the side of Thranduil, rolling onto his side and welcoming the beautiful tired blonde that immediately cuddled into his warmth, as he always had after sex, the big cat Bard had always known and loved. Bard loved these moments, sleeps and warm and content, when they knew nothing but their love and each other’s arms, no number of lives could give him enough of this moment.

“Who is Thran? You call me that sometimes, always have, I don’t even think you notice you are doing it sometimes. And then while we loved, you called me it again.” Thranduil asked as he lay curled up against Bard’s chest, his voice was vulnerable, he must think Bard was trying to fill the place left behind by an earlier lover, calling him by that name, but truthfully Bard always struggled to call Thranduil by his new names, to him he would always be Thran, his Thranduil.

“You are.” Bard answered, he was sleepy still but his thoughts could never be cloudy on this subject, so very acquainted by now with his unique state of affairs.

“My name is Fiorentino.”

“It is also Thran. I would call you that, if you would let me.”

“There is something you are not telling me.”

“Aye.” Bard was unable to deny it.

“You may call me Thran, if you promise to tell me why someday.”

“I promise.”

Once again Thranduil never remembered, there was never a moment of realisation when the memories crashed around him. But one day Bard did find a painting in the studio set apart from the others, showing a scene not just a person.

It was Bard surrounded by dragon fire, it was a whisper of a memory long since forgotten, but it told Bard that Thranduil was ready to believe him, and he did.

Thranduil loved to be told the stories, just like he had when they had been children. So Bard spoke and Thranduil painted scenes his mind did not remember but something in his soul must, for Bard’s story telling was not that accurate yet the paintings were like pictures drawn straight from time. He wished he would be able to take them with him into the next life, but he knew they would be lost. It did not matter though, not if he found Thranduil again, so long as he found him, little else would ever matter.

But most often of all, Thranduil painted Bard.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

Bard had always liked the sea, it was far nicer than the lake, far more freeing. He liked the bracing winds and the smell of salt and the open expanse of the sea that made it feel like anything was possible. 

He had not intended on becoming a pirate. It had actually managed to happen purely by chance, the privateering crew he was a part of got bored of being attacked by pirates, found most of them wanted to keep what they had and not work for anyone but themselves anymore, and well, they already had the ship.

How Bard had ended up captain of that pirate ship was less luck and more active design on his part. It hadn’t been hard though, the men liked him, he was level headed but invaluable in a fight so many lives of experience helping him through.

Bard often wondered if he found the right direction, the right shore to start from, if he could find the old lands of Valinor, or if they were lost in time just like Middle Earth was. He knew the lands must have just been renamed and changed beyond a point where Bard stood any chance of recognising them. Still he wondered, wondered why he had never gone to the halls of the waiting as he should have, why Thranduil had never either.

He rarely stumbled across people from Middle Earth anymore, they used to appear occasionally, faces he vaguely recognised, but not anymore. Yet somehow he still knew he would see Thranduil though, for some reason they were being continually remade and for some other reason only Bard ever remembered things. It only made not having found him all the harder to bear.

Maybe that was another reason he liked the sea so much, even though most of the time he was just among his crew, the travelling made finding Thranduil again seem all the more likely. Every time they boarded a ship Bard would look out for a flash of silver blonde hair among the crew, but he had yet to find him

“Sails! Southeast!” Bellowed the crewman in the crows-nest and Bard was immediately spinning and looking through his spyglass, he could see the black colours of a pirate flag on the ship, that always made it unpredictable, sometimes fellow pirates sailed past, other times they attacked and stole the cargo – if you had any – of whatever prize you had taken.

They were on route back to the pirating port and had a cargo snatched from a merchant vessel, not a huge prize but not insubstantial either.

“Do we know her?” Bard turned to his quartermaster, passing him the spyglass.

“Not one I recognise. Must be new in these waters.” Robson answered. “Orders captain?”

“Everyone on guard. I don’t want a fight, this haul isn’t enough to risk our lives but I don’t want this captain to think us an easy mark either.”

Robson started barking out orders to the crew and Bard found he had a bad feeling, probably from the way the other ship seemed to be chasing straight towards them.

Bard hated the fights, he knew some of the more violent men among them liked them, but in all honesty most of them did not. Deadly and good in a fight every last one of them, but most of them did not like it, and Bard was the same. But just because he didn’t like it did not mean they weren’t prepared to fight. No. They were in fact very good at fighting. Bard’s crew had never lost a fight under his command, and that didn’t look like it was going to change this time either. Canons had been firing and now men were swinging from Bard’s ship onto the new one, he supposed he would be able to sleep just fine in the knowledge that he hadn’t started the fight.

Then Bard saw a whirl of silver hair fighting on the other ship and he screamed a ceasefire, a surrender, as fast as his lungs would allow. It was a testament to his men’s loyalty that they stopped without question, raising their weapons in surrender.

Less than five minutes later Bard’s whole crew was restrained and being watched closely, weapons trained on them – though no one should be hurt as long as this went smoothly – and Bard was being taken to see their captain.

“I must admit my surprise.” Came a voice Bard would always know, the face he would never forget looking at him from where he was sat in Bard’s chair, they were on Bard’s ship after all, this was his cabin. “For I cannot fathom why you so suddenly gave up the fight. You were doing well.” It was a tease, Bard would always know what a tease from that voice would sound like.

“We were winning.” Bard corrected him, it was true, Thranduil would have had to give to up himself if it had continued the way it was. 

“Temporarily.” Thranduil conceded, Bard supposed there was only the two of them in here. “But that only makes my question all the more relevant.” Thranduil continued, and when Bard didn’t answer he repeated it. “Why did you give up the fight?”

Because Bard could not bear to put Thranduil in danger, the thought that men acting on his orders might hurt him was not one he could live with, not one he would ever be able to live with. It would have haunted him from one life into the next and he would never have been free of it. But of course that was not what he said.

“It’s not such a good cargo. I didn’t want to see lives lost over it.” Bard shrugged, it wasn’t untrue, but had it not been for Thranduil they would have continued fighting and they would have won. Thranduil was watching him with that piercing, considering gaze tough, and Bard couldn’t help but grin and add. “Besides, I couldn’t bear the thought of one so pretty as yourself getting hurt.”

“How very shallow of you.” Thranduil smirked back. “It is adorable you think anyone on your crew has the capacity to hurt me.”

“I could beat you in a fight.” Bard grinned, knowing it was probably true, Thranduil didn’t have the benefit of his memories from other lives to aid him.

“You cannot even bring yourself to raise a sword against me.” Thranduil pointed out, looking far too smug about that fact.

“I might be reluctant to hurt a face like yours.” Bard smiled wolfishly and he got that smirk he knew from lives ago in response. “But I could beat you without drawing blood. I could have the sword from your hand and you on your knees and you would be forced to yield.” 

“Would I indeed?” Thranduil’s eyes glittered at the suggestion in Bard’s voice. “I sincerely hope you follow through on that promise, for it sounded more like a promise than a threat.” Thranduil purred into Bard’s ear as he walked around the desk, Bard managed to contain his shiver.

“Oh I intend to.” Bard resisted the urge to attack Thranduil’s pearly white jaw with his teeth and lips, though he knew Thranduil would enjoy it.

“But until then. I’ll be having that cargo.” Thranduil smirked and Bard couldn’t help his laugh. “Until next time, captain.” Was then added in a sultry whisper into his ear, before Thranduil disappeared from the room.

Understandably, the crew were not happy with him. Which meant he had to work rather hard to tamp down his stupid smile as he left his cabin.

“You had better have a bloody good explanation.” Robson said when they were back in his cabin, the crew freed and Thranduil’s – or Captain Kitt, as was apparently his name here – ship was long out of sight. The ship was called _Eryn Lasgalen_ , it made Bard smile, he wondered if Thranduil even knew what it meant, or if some part of him had just been compelled to name it so, without knowing the meaning.

“I don’t.”

“Have a good explanation?”

“Have any explanation really. At least not one any of you want to hear.”

“What about the one we don’t want to hear?”

“Well you don’t want to hear that one. So I think I’ll keep it to myself.” Bard answered and Robson might have laughed if he wasn’t scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What shall I tell the crew?”

“That next time the _Eryn Lasgalen_ sets out to take a prize, we’ll let them do the hard work and then we’ll steal it from them.” Bard grinned, sorting through papers on his desk.

“You have a plan?” Robson asked, looking far more pleased than he had a few moments ago.

“Oh yes.”

When they pulled into port Bard was unsurprised to see _Eryn Lasgalen_ anchored there too, this was the main port and only one in the vicinity that would deal in pirated goods. He saw Thranduil in the tavern there and caught his eye, raising his drink to him with a wink, Thranduil smirked as they looked at each other over their drinks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bard’s men had always been good at taking his orders without questioning them, probably because even if they didn’t understand them in the moment they always did later, and most of the time it worked out well for them. Which was probably the only reason why they had allowed their captain to row for half the night in the pitch dark to where _Eryn Lasgalen_ was anchored for the night, having watched patiently before dark to see where she would stay for the night.

Bard only had a little while to pull this off before the sun rose and Thranduil’s crew saw Bard’s ship and set off. Bard’s crew were under orders to get here as soon as they could see well enough to sail, it meant Bard probably had twenty minutes.

Sacrificing the rowing boat some way out Bard dipped into the water and swam the rest of the way to Thranduil’s ship, grinning when the moonlight showed him that the outer window to the captain’s cabin was in fact open. He climbed up the back of the ship and silently slipped through the open window, feeling victorious when he saw Thranduil lying in his small bed tucked in the corner, still fast asleep.

Bard was dripping on Thranduil’s floor as he drew out his deliberately blunted dagger – something which had endlessly confused Robson when he’d requested the blade to be blunted. He walked quietly over to Thranduil’s bedside and crouched, running a finger down that porcelain cheek and making Thranduil snuffle in his sleep and push into the touch.

It only took a few moments for Thranduil’s eyes to flutter open, eyes flashing in the growing dusk light when they saw Bard. Bard pressed the cool blade to Thranduil’s neck and placed a finger to his lips. Thranduil smirked and lounged back in his bed.

“Am I supposed to believe you’re going to use that on me?”

“So long as your crew believes it and doesn’t fight back against mine for fear of their dear captain.” Bard teased.

“What’s to stop me from simply telling them the blade is blunt, or indeed pushing you and your ineffectual weapon away?”

“I’ll bind and gag you if I have to.”

“Tease.”

Bard wasn’t sure when they had got so close but his next words were practically murmured against those plump red lips.

“You’re very distracting.” Bard said, before sneaking a hand between them and pinning Thranduil’s arm from where it had been lowly reaching for his pistol. “But I’m not that easy.”

Bard wasn’t ready for the way Thranduil surged forward and claimed his lips, but he was far from disappointed that it had happened. He met Thranduil’s mouth in a fierce clash of lips, teeth clicking as they collided in the messy kiss that was more nips and sucks than a real kiss. Bard pinned Thranduil’s wrists above his head to stop them from going for the pistol again, though Bard was fairly sure from the way he was whining in his throat and rubbing up against Bard that it was far from his mind now.

“Enticing as you are.” Bard breathed out between filthy kisses. “I’m not here for you, I’m here for your cargo.”

“Aren’t I better than a few crates of tobacco?” Thranduil pouted as Bard pulled away.

“Much.” Bard agreed. “But I have to take revenge or my crew will never listen to me again.”

“Understandable but terrible disappointing.” Thranduil rubbed his hips up against Bard’s to emphasise his point and Bard groaned ducking back down to suck a mark into that creamy neck that would last at least a week, Thranduil’s whimper was more than worth it.

Bard did bind Thranduil’s hands and fashion a gag for him, revelling in the dark, lust-filled look in Thranduil’s eyes until right on time his crew started calling to him, sails spotted, _The Greyhound_ was almost upon them, Bard’s ship.

Bard grinned to Thranduil before moving him in front, keeping behind Thranduil, one hand around his chest, the blunt dagger at his throat as he kicked open the cabin doors and emerged on deck. Thranduil’s crew were shocked and looking to their gagged captain for orders which he clearly couldn’t give.

“I want your weapons on the forecastle, _all_ your weapons, and then I want you all on the main deck, hands on your head.” Bard barked out the order, glad for the small flight of stairs that separated him and Thranduil from the rest of the crew.

The crew did as told, eyeing him and the glinting blade he had at Thranduil’s neck warily, they couldn’t see it was blunt form where they were. By the time Bard’s men were boarding them the crew was fully subdued and Bard’s men – Bard’s very smug men – were stealing the cargo from their hold, in much the same way Thranduil’s crew had from them just a few weeks ago.

“I’m torn between tying you up and leaving you with your crew, and taking you with me.” Bard teased, letting his teeth graze over the shell of Thranduil’s ear as he spoke, he was close enough to hear Thranduil’s tiny whimper.

His crew were almost done on board, they would be sailing off soon enough, not that he was particularly keen to go.

“If I turned up in your cabin again would you let me into your bed?” Bard couldn’t help but ask, whispering the question into Thranduil’s ear, he got a quiet moan and Thranduil rocking his body back into Bard’s in response, it made him grin and kiss that beautiful neck.

He tied Thranduil to the main mast with a grin, they’d be able to escape, but Bard and his ship would be long gone before Thranduil’s crew were able to get underway.

“Until next time then, my beauty.” Bard teased and Thranduil’s eyes sparked with mischief.

Bard left a parting nip on Thranduil’s ear and left the ship, casting them off and throwing a wink back over his shoulder as his ship got immediately underway. When he reached his cabin Robson was waiting for him with crossed arms and a stern look.

“What?” Bard asked, keen to get out of his still damp clothes now he was back in his ship.

“Please tell me you didn’t order us to stop the attack on their ship last time because you’re involved with Captain Kitt.” Robson asked frankly, and well, it was as close to the truth as someone would ever get.

“I said at the time you wouldn’t like it.” Bard shrugged, and Robson groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face and leaving the cabin muttering about priorities.

“Robson.” Bard stopped him, his quartermaster turned with another scowl.

“Yeah?”

“I love him.” Bard said, it was better he knew the real reason. Robson’s face softened just a touch.

“Yeah.” And without saying anything else he left the cabin. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We both know you only got that cargo because you crept up in me. In a fair fight I win every time.” Thranduil teased, they had come across each other in port, Thranduil had a bottle of wine in his hand – apparently his tastes had never changed in that respect – and his other hand was against Bard’s chest.

The sand was warm underneath his feet and he was smiling. Members of both their crews weren’t paying them much mind unless it was to roll their eyes.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance against me in a sword fight.” Bard laughed, only laughing harder when Thranduil proceeded to pout petulantly, something he had done a lot as the king.

“Captain Bowman I challenge you to a fight right now.”

“You’re drunk.” Bard pointed out, pushing some of Thranduil’s soft hair back out of his face before giving in and pulling the leather tie out of his own hair in order to gather up Thranduil’s locks into a ponytail for him. Thranduil just stepped closer to his chest and allowed the caring action, looking at Bard with slightly glassy eyes.

“And still I shall beat you.” Thranduil insisted, he smelt of the sea and wine and salt and something that was innately Thranduil.   

“Whatever you say Kitten.” Bard teased, Thranduil scrunched his face up in a scowl, he had always done that when he was drunk.

“It’s Kitt.” He growled, but it was playful if anything. “And stop changing the subject.”

“What are the stakes?” Bard asked.

“Hmmm. If I win you have a give me every bottle of wine on your ship – I know you have some stashed there.”

“And if I win? What then?”

“What do you want?” Thranduil asked, before he smirked impishly at Bard. “If you win you can have your wicked way with me all night.”

“Such an incentive.” Bard grinned and Thranduil shared it before spinning back in the sand – and tripping a little due to the wine – before drawing his sword and pointing it at Bard.

Bard rolled eyes and drew his own sword out, easily deflecting Thranduil’s first blow. Even if he wasn’t drunk this would be rather easy, multiple lifetimes of fighting meant there was probably no one who could match him in a fair fight, let alone one where his opponent was drunk.

Bard teased him for a little while, dancing around on the sand with him, easily blocking his attacks and only making suspiciously slow half-hearted attacks that he knew Thranduil would be able to block. Thranduil was giggling the whole time, in every life he had had a penchant for giggling when drunk, it made him smile.

“I expected more I must admit.” Thranduil goaded him playfully and Bard raised an eyebrow before employing a rather elven move than Thranduil had taught him in a different life, disarming and knocking Thranduil into the sand before he could blink.

Bard caught the falling blade and dug them into the sand before straddling Thranduil’s hips and pinning him to the ground.

“Oh.” Thranduil said, looking adorably surprised.

“I win.” Bard grinned, Thranduil’s mind was clearly on other things already as his hands crept over Bard’s chest and Bard was glad for the darkness on the beach, they weren’t visible to many people.

“Would you claim your prize?” Thranduil asked before leaning up to kiss Bard disarmingly softly.

Thranduil was aroused, Bard could feel it against himself, but he was also sleepy and smelt like wine, so Bard gathered him up in his arms and carried him like a blushing bride to the small one room house he kept on the island.

Bard was fairly sure Thranduil hadn’t expected Bard to just want to hold him through the night, but it had been long since he’d had his love in his arms, and he didn’t want their first time to be drunken. It only took Thranduil a moment of surprise before he sunk back into Bard’s strong arms and chest completely, falling asleep soon after.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I need your help.” Thranduil announced, appearing in Bard’s cabin, bard hadn’t even realised he was on board, but then, their men had long since learned that there was no need to stop them, they posed no threat to each other.

“What with?” Bard asked, attention forcefully taken from the maps on his desk as Thranduil sat upon them, leaving Bard in the vee of his legs, he soothed his hands along long thighs.

“I want to take a prize. But it’s a big one. I can’t do it alone.”

“You trust me enough to do that? To sail in consort with you?”

“I would trust you with my life. I would trust no other to do it.” Thranduil said simply, Bard couldn’t help but lean up for a kiss, Thranduil meeting him halfway. 

“How big is the prize?” Bard asked, it was something he had to consult his crew on after all, it had to be worth their while.

“It would be enough to, well, only if you wanted I mean, but I would be enough...” Thranduil was blushing and huffing out little awkward breaths of air, this Thranduil never blushed, Bard kissed it right off his cheeks.

“Enough to what?” Bard pushed, letting his thumb rub little circles into Thranduil’s thigh.

“To stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Pirating…”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we could have enough for the rest of our lives. We could find a house in the interior of the island and just, be together, be safe.” Thranduil was blushing and Bard swept him up into a consuming kiss, pulling Thranduil into his lap on his chair, leaving them pressed close and intimate.

“Do you mean it?” Bard asked, kisses migrating to Thranduil’s jaw, down his neck, shoving aside his shirt and getting to his shoulder.

“This is a dangerous life. I find I cannot stomach the thought of losing you, it tears at my heart. And I worry about you constantly whenever you are not beside me, I fear it will send me grey. For the first time, I want to grow old, dying on the water doesn’t sound so glorious anymore. I want to grow old with you and only die when I am frail and wrinkled and deaf with your arms around me.”

Bard’s tears were definitely wetting Thranduil’s skin, but he didn’t mention it, he just tangled his hands in Bard’s hair and brought him back to his lips, Bard’s hands holding on tight, as though he was scared this would slip away from him again.

They were soon scrabbling at each other’s clothes and Thranduil rode him in his chair until they both came with kiss-muffled moans. They stayed there for a while, Bard held Thranduil and Thranduil had his hands wound into Bard’s shirt and Bard marvelled at how lucky he was that he got to have this again, to have a life with Thranduil again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fight for their joint prize was a hard and bloody fight, the prize ship was Spanish and had over fifty guns on it, but still they were winning. They had managed to fire enough good hits form their own ships, positioned either side of the Spanish ship, before the Spanish had even realised what was happened.

But inevitably they had started firing back and their canons ripped through Bard’s ship, but still he knew they were winning. He drowned out the screams as men were torn apart by canon or flying shrapnel hit them, because still the Spanish ship was taking more hits than they were, they wouldn’t be able to keep going for much longer.

Bard was sure it was only luck that had seen him through so many bloody fights, and it saw him through this one as well, escaping only with superficial cuts until the Spanish raised their white flag and stopped firing, giving up their cargo to the pirates.

As planned Thranduil kept his ship’s guns trained the Spanish ship while Bard’s crew boarded and took the cargo. Bard could see something going on on the deck of _Eryn Lasgalen_ , Thranduil’s quartermaster Gibbon seemed to be dealing with it, and Bard couldn’t help anyway, he and to oversee the collection of the cargo, one wrong move and this could still end badly for them all.

Bard wasn’t surprised they pulled it off, they worked well as a team, they had planned it thoroughly and nothing unexpected had happened, but he was relived all the same. He was relived every time they came through a fight, no matter how small.

They sailed back to the port, knowing it would be easier to sort out the plunder there rather than sat in open water, _Eryn Lasgalen_ sailed slower than usual and Bard smiled, it was probably Thranduil watching the waters’ making sure nothing was coming for them, Bard’s ship had taken more hits during the attack, though neither of them were in the best shape anymore.

They anchored together, roping the ships together as they often did these days when they were both in port, they were almost one crew on two ships at this point. The _Eryn Lasgalen_ crew was disorganised compared to Thranduil’s usual rigorous efficiency, maybe they had been more shaken by the fight than Bard realised.

“Where is the captain?” Bard asked Thranduil’s quartermaster, scanning the deck for his love, but he saw only sombre faces.

Dread set in his gut and one look at Gibson told him what he did not wish to know. 

The captain was dead, caught by one of the Spanish canons.

Bard didn’t believe him, he shook his head and denied it even though he knew there was no reason for Gibson to lie to him. He was shown the body, they had laid it in Thranduil’s cabin, on his bed, what was left of him anyway, the gaping hole in Thranduil’s side where the canon ball had torn through him.

“We were going to retire. We were going to move onto the island. We were going to be safe.” Bard’s voice hitched and the grief overtook him again.

He had never lost him so suddenly before, he knew it was a feeling he would never be able to cope with, and one he would never be able to forget.

They left Bard alone for a long while, some members of his crew came to see if he was alright, but of course he was not.

It was as dawn began to shine that Bard steadied his hand and wrapped Thranduil’s broken body in many sheets, binding him tightly and carrying out onto the deck. Then men watched but none said anything as Bard descended from the ship with Thranduil held tight in his arm and into one of the long boats.

He rowed to the island and people watched a Bard picked up the body and carried him like his bride, they all knew who it was, Bard and Thranduil had had their matelotage many moons ago now. He carried Thranduil across the beach and steadily towards the tavern, the tavern owner did not say a word as Bard took one of the horses to ride them inland.

He spoke to Thranduil the whole way, he told him about the things they had been planning to do here, reminded him of the sights they had seen while walking through the land. They reached the house, their house, the one they had already claimed as their own, and he buried Thranduil in the garden there.

He never went back to the sea. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

Bard liked his work here. He saw to the vast grounds at Thistlewood Hall, every tree, every flower, every blade of grass was his to care for, and care for them he did. The garden flourished, Thranduil had taught him how to tend to plants on many lazy afternoons in Middle Earth and he employed them here.

He doubled as a general handy man, he got along well enough with the other servants that they would often come to him whenever they needed help and Bard was happy enough to oblige. He knew one of the scullery maids was taken with him, and he wished things could be simple enough that he could feel the same, he imagined if he wasn’t plagued by memories of other lives and dreamt unerringly of piercing blue eyes and a waterfall of silver blonde hair, he might have taken her up on her interest.

There was a maze in the garden, Bard often stole away into it more often than he should, it was his pride and joy in the garden, it was awash with bright colours, Bard having coaxed the flowers into blossoming the first time which now they do without help. It weaved and wove and if you found your way to the centre there was an intimate bench with ivy winding around it, a small fountain in the centre.

There were acres and acres of forest land and it was peaceful enough that some deer had settled into it, Bard was trying to get them to trust him, last week he had managed to convince on to eat from his palm, but it skittered away as soon as he tried to pet its head. Still, he was convinced he would succeed eventually. The deer reminded him of Thranduil, of happier times in renaissance Italy or the short but beautiful time they had had in Middle Earth.

Bard tried not to be melancholy, he had yet to find Thranduil in this new life, so he did not yet know what this life would bring. It could be happy yet, though for now it merely felt empty, so he filled it up with gardens and flowers and tried to banish the thoughts of Thranduil’s body mangled from the canon from his mind. Those images had been his constant companions since it had happened, it was not fair that even death could not banish them.

He hadn’t remembered the true horror until he was almost seventeen, something he does not understand releases the images, the memories to him, at an age where he can comprehend them properly. He knows Thranduil’s face before he knows his own, the memories build him up and come back to him as he grows up each time, his head holding life times of memories that are all his but no long.

He always remembers the taste and feel of Thranduil’s body, what sex with him was like when he was in his late teenage years, and then usually less than a year after that would come the horrors he had seen as well. He was glad he had never had to face a childhood knowing the things he had seen in past lives, he was not sure he would ever have been able to sleep with memories like that, not as a young boy.

But when they returned it was as if they had never been gone, they weren’t surprising or shocking or denied. They just were. Bard had not slept for weeks when the memory of Thranduil’s broken body had returned to him, and when he finally had he had woken screaming from night terrors for a long time, calling out a name no one recognised. Even the person who it belonged to would not recognise it.

Bard loved to remember his children. He missed them dearly in every life. His missed Sigrid’s ridiculous laugh, loud and snorting with joy, he missed Bain’s unruly hair, how he liked to pretend he didn’t care but was always fighting with it to try and get it to sit right. He missed Tilda’s infectious smiles, how she could brighten anyone’s day simply with a smile and a hello.

He remembered when he had met Legolas again in Scandinavia, so long ago now, and he wondered if he could have his children back. But Bard feared it did not work that way, and he had never found his wife a second time, though he always kept an eye out for her, he was sure by now he would not find her again. Bard never had children because if he was honest he did not want them, he just wanted _his_ children back, but he knew how unlikely that must be, Bard himself had different parents in every life.

He wanted to know why he and Thranduil were being pulled back into life over and over again, why they hadn’t moved on as most people could. In his early lives Bard remembered seeing people he recognised from Middle Earth scattered around the world, but it had been a long time since he had seen anyone other than Thranduil. It was as if there was something they were supposed to achieve which they were failing to do each and every time before they could move on.

He spoke to the Valar often, though they never answered him. For all he knew they were dead as well, that the Halls of Mandos were gone, if they had ever existed in the first place. He talked to them to muse on answers, to talk out loud and pretend he wasn’t just talking to himself, to pretend he wasn’t as lonely as he knew he was.

He hated that he was forced to remember. It made him feel so alone in the world, everyone he had ever known was dead and gone and there was a crushing weight of emptiness in him that he found it harder to deny the more he was brought back. Thranduil took that feeling away, Bard wondered why they couldn’t just be happy. Even Italy had been tainted with sadness, they had had to flee Florence, the city they loved so much or imprisonment – or worse – simply for loving each other. But they had survived, they had survived with each other. Bard knew he could make it through anything if Thranduil was by his side, but without him he was weary and tried to his very bones, the likes of which no amount of sleep could fix. 

“You have old eyes.” A little girl said to him one day she had blonde hair and had appeared in the garden, Bard didn’t know who she was.

“I have seen many things.” Bard smiled at her, though he knew it was tinged with sadness.

“I like you.” She announced, thrusting a little hand in Bard’s direction for him to shake and he did so, finding he liked her as well.

“And I you.” Bard smiled, more brightly this time. “Though I would like to know who you are and why you are in my garden.” Bard then teased.

“S’not your garden. It’s mine.” She grinned, Bard remembered being told that the Abbey was going to have a new owner soon, he supposed they had arrive. “I’m Mabel.” She beamed at him.

“Well I’m Bard. And as it is yours would you like to learn a bit about it?” Bard asked and she nodded enthusiastically.

Bard pointed at the various parts of the garden and told her about the flowers and what needed to be done to keep the plants green and full of life. He told her about the deer and promised to show her them one day if her parents permitted it, which apparently she was sure they would.

“She is not bothering you I hope.” A kind and beautiful looking woman smiled down at them, Bard realised she must be the new Lady of the house.

“Not at all.” Bard smiled back, standing to offer a small bow, ever confused over the proper etiquette, the woman laughed and waved him off, Bard liked her instantly, he would not mind working for her now he was sure. 

“I’m Elizabeth Hawthorne. As you have likely guessed.” She added and Bard nodded, although if he was being honest he had actually forgotten the names of the couple moving into the Hall.

“Bard, Bowman. Groundskeeper, as you have likely guessed.” Bard introduced and she laughed a very pretty laugh before holding out her hand to shake and Bard wondered if that was how Mabel had learned it.

Bard’s hands were muddy from his work but when he went to wipe them on his shirt the lady merely laughed and caught his hand anyway, Bard found himself grinning at her.

Bard’s heart then fractured where he stood as he heard another voice.

“Eliza, Mabel, come inside, tea has been served.” Bard would always know that voice.

“My husband. I shall make sure he introduces himself, though he has a green thumb of his own so I am sure he will be very impressed with your gardens and come to see you of his own accord soon enough.” Elizabeth told him, and Bard held his expression fast, making sure none of what he was feeling was showing on his face. “Come along Mabel.”

“By mister Bard.” The little girl said, bouncing off with her mother to where her father was standing at the top of the garden. Even from this distance Bard could see him perfectly, his mind supplying what his eyes could not reach.

Bard walked calmly through the gardens, he found a quiet spot where no one was likely to find him, and he broke down, letting the plants and tress soak up his cries so that no one else would hear.

The sun was setting before Bard had gathered himself, whatever there was left of himself to gather at any rate, he felt as if he had been shredded into tatters and a deep pain he had never known before had set into his chest. And he was ashamed, because he wished he could hate Elizabeth, but knew he would never be able to, and somehow, he knew that was going to make it much worse.

Now that he knew, he could see Thranduil in Mabel’s face, in her smile and in her cheeks, in her light blonde hair and even a little in her manner, although she was only a little girl still.

Bard slipped out of the grounds unnoticed and went back to his tiny house just a few minutes’ walk away. He shut the door behind himself and was left in the dark, he had never felt so empty, so lonely.

“Mister Bard, why do you look sad?” Mabel asked, it was the fifth consecutive day she had lived here and spent with him, at first it had been painful but her little smiles and her determination to help with the gardens made it less and less so each day, she was a lovely little girl.

“I’m not sad.” Bard lied, he had forgotten just how perceptive children could be.

“Yes you are. On the first day you were only a bit sad but now you are very sad. Do you not like us?” Her voice was small, as if she really was worried Bard didn’t like her.

“I like you all very much. I have been sad for a long time.” Bard said honestly, ever since Thranduil had been snatched away from him last, a lifetime ago.

Mabel looked thoughtful before disappearing into the garden, reappearing with a pretty flower in her hand that she tucked into Bard’s hair, standing on the wall to do so, Bard hand automatically out ready to catch her should she fall.

“Flowers make me happy. I hope they help you too. Even if only a little bit.”

Bard smiled at her softly and they went back to their gardening until Elizabeth came out to scoop up her child. She invited Bard in to eat with them, Bard liked how little she cared for what society dictated, but he declined of course

“I hear you are sad Bard, Mabel is very concerned.” Elizabeth found him later that day as he trimmed the hedges close to the hall.

“She is a very sweet girl, she should not worry about me.”

“She is right though.” Elizabeth said, Bard nodded. “If there is anything we can do.” Bard shook his head and Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on his shoulder before returning inside, she was good at knowing when to stay and when to go and Bard wished he could hate her.

Bard had considered leaving the hall, quitting his job and finding work elsewhere, going as far away as any boat would take him. But he knew there was no point, he would only be adrift in life, with all the unwanted memories swirling around in Bard’s head he knew he needed an anchor, and that anchor was Thranduil. Lord Andrew Hawthorne.

It was another few days before he had the visitor to the gardens that he had both dreaded and longed for.

“The gardens are exquisite, you should be proud.” Bard was in the maze, tending to the flowers he had managed to make grow in its walls. He steeled himself before turning around.   

“I am, my lord.” Bard answered, ducking his head, not in deference, but because seeing Thranduil so close to him but knowing that in this life he could not be his was suffocating him and he feared he could not look.

“Where did you learn to get the flowers to grow like this?” Thranduil asked, smooth porcelain fingers caressing the petals on a blue flower.

“I had a friend – ” Bard forced the tears back from his voice and his eyes. “Who loved all things that grew. I quite think they could have sung the flowers into blooming anywhere.”

“Sounds like an intriguing person.”

“Yeah.” Bard answered, he forced himself to look at Thranduil, he was radiant in the gardens, the flowers looked plain and dull beside him, Bard was unsure if he would survive this life.

“I was hoping I might be able to speak with you about some ideas I have for the grounds. Though they are so beautiful already that I would not begrudge you denying my ideas.” Thranduil said, but Bard had never been able to deny him anything.

“Of course, my lord.”

“Andrew is fine, my wife already has you calling her Eliza I am sure.” Bard nodded, but he knew he would continue to call him ‘my lord’ it kept a distance somehow, a distance Bard needed.

“Aye.”

Thranduil talking through the ideas he had for the gardens as they walked through them, and as Bard had expected they were beautiful ideas, Thranduil had always been at one with his forest, the gardens should be no different. He promised to get started on the changes and Thranduil insisted on being a part of the work.

“My daughter is rather taken with you.” Thranduil commented one day when they, all four of them, were working in the gardens, Thranduil was not the only one in the family with a green thumb it seemed, Mabel and Eliza shared it.

“She is a bright light.” Bard answered, it was true. Mabel had bounced off to join her mother’s work in a flower bed little way down the garden, Bard had been sad to lose the buffer between he and Thranduil.

“Indeed she is.” Thranduil said, smiling after his daughter. “She was mentioning something about deer and you offering to show her them.”

“Only if it is acceptable to you my lord.”

“Of course it is. I was just wondering if you would show me too. I love wildlife, deer I find especially beautiful.”

“You need only ask my lord.” Bard answered and it made Thranduil smile, Bard wasn’t sure if that hurt or soothed him. Some sick mixture of both he supposed.

They worked excruciatingly closely through the garden, Thranduil joining him for at least a short while every day, Eliza being a little more sporadic but just as lovely as she always would, while Mabel seemed intent on Bard training her to do everything there was to do in a garden.

Thranduil spoke, more so than he had as the king, he spoke like he used to in Italy or on the seas, Bard wondered if that was the effect a happy life had on Thranduil, for he knew that when he had lost his wife in Middle Earth it had quietened him, and while he never had trouble speaking to Bard, he had always been reserved in his speech. But there were also the silences, sometimes they were worse, for they were so comfortable Bard could almost imagine they were back in the grove, the small green and fresh space in Mirkwood near his palace.

Despite their different stations, the whole family seemed to take to him, Bard almost wished they were aloof and interacted with him little, for he was both happier and impossibly sadder than he had been before they arrive.

It was a year into their residence that they made the announcement that Eliza was with child again, and Bard was happy for them and he was impossibly sad. He felt disgusting, that he could not simply find happiness in their happiness, Thranduil was happy after all, that was what should matter to him, and yet he hurt each day. 

“And what of you Bard? I never see you take an interest in anyone, Georgina the scullery maid is certainly vying for your attentions.” Thranduil said shortly after their announcement, everyone was speaking of love and children and marriage, Bard had been making his way outside, intending to slip away, when Thranduil came alongside him and spoke.

“If I had a heart left to give perhaps it would be easier.” Bard answered, looking at the man beside him as they both took a seat on a bench outside.

“What happened to her?” Thranduil asked and there was a comforting hand on his bicep that seemed to burn through his clothes.

“He died.” Bard swallowed thickly, shrinking out of Thranduil’s touch and moving from the bench, wanting to walk away. The surprise was clear on Thranduil’s face, but there was no hatred there, it was like a balm to Bard’s soul in some ways, and hurt him more in others, perhaps it would be easier if Thranduil hated him, or perhaps it would be even worse.

He couldn’t bring himself to lie, to pretend it was a she he had loved, that he still loved. He loved Thranduil, but Thranduil, his Thranduil, was dead.

“I do not think less of you, for it.” Thranduil said softly, apparently taking Bard’s exit as fear of being judged. “I am sorry for your loss. What happened to him?”

Bard was caught between picking a story from their many and making one up, in the end he chose their most recent, it was the freshest wound in his soul after all, after this one right in front of him, this new one was like a cold and slow poison.

“Canon fire. It tore out his side.” Bard said, Thranduil looked horrified, he looked like he wanted to comfort Bard but did not know how. “I buried him. I miss him.”

“I am so sorry Bard.”

They sat in silence for a while, Bard could almost pretend Thranduil was his again in these silences.

“I did not know you were a seaman.” Thranduil said gently after a little while.

“I have been many things.” Bard answered, his voice was sad, he stood to leave, Thranduil let him go.

Seasons passed at the hall and a baby boy was born, they named him Thomas. Bard had sat outside with Eliza a lot during her pregnancy, she liked outside and she liked Bard’s company and Bard had happily sat with her. Thranduil had joined them occasionally and Bard tried on those occasions to find an excuse to leave somehow, it tended not to be hard, he and Eliza were like two lovesick children still and rarely noticed him go, or if they did, they did not stop him, so it did not matter. 

Eliza and he were sat in the garden one afternoon, Thranduil joined them and before long Eliza was pulled in by a baby’s cries, it left he and Thranduil alone, it was something he used to be so good at avoiding for his own sake, although recently he had found them together more frequently, as if something in him could not help but need Thranduil’s presence beside him.

“You will call my wife Eliza upon her request, but you insist on calling me ‘my lord’. Why?” Thranduil asked out of the blue, they had been speaking of the Spring and the flowers that should bloom anew.

“You are remote.” It was neither a lie nor the truth, Thranduil was remote, but not to Bard, never to Bard.

“Eliza says the same, helps me not to be so cold. And I have tried not to be, but you seem determined to not be my friend.”

“It would not do to befriend someone of so low status, my lord.”

“And what of my wife?”

“She is difficult to deny.” Bard said, even though Thranduil was harder still for him to deny.

“True enough.” Thranduil smiled and there was such love in his expression that Bard broke a little more, as if there was anything left to break. He wondered how he could be both happy for them and so torn apart by them inside, because it was that strange mixture he felt. “But you are not being honest with me.”

“No, I am not.”

“What is it then?”

“I do not want to be your friend.” Bard kept his voice from cracking.

“Why not?” Thranduil asked, he was curious, not offended.

“You remind me of someone. It is painful.” Bard admitted, understanding flickered across Thranduil’s smooth face, as much as he could understand at any rate.

“The one you lost?” Thranduil asked, but it was not much of a question.

“The similarities between you are agonising. I do not like being reminded so often of the person who was torn away from me.”

“I am sorry for any pain I have caused you. It was unintentionally done.”

“Don’t apologise. Besides, I enjoy your company, it is just that you unwittingly bring about memories I wish to bury.”

“Should you bury your love? Perhaps there is a way to remember the happy parts and bury only the bad.” Thranduil asked, Bard knew he was trying to help, he gave him a sad smile.

“The happy memories hurt me just as deeply as the sad.”

“I am sorry. I wish I knew what to say to help you.” Thranduil said, he didn’t apologise to many people, but in all their lives he had always been endlessly considerate to Bard, he had always apologised for even the most minor infractions, even the things that required no apology.

“I am happy you do not understand loss my lord, for it means you have not had to experience it, and I sincerely wish you never do.” Bard told him and there was a delicate hand squeezing his own, he had never forgotten what those hands felt like in his own, but now it was brought to the forefront of his mind once more.

“He was a very lucky man, to hold your heart.”

“Thank you, my lord.” _My heart, my love_. He knew his words sounded as if that was what he had said instead of ‘my lord’.

Bard let out a shaky breath and his eyes found Thranduil’s, they were conflicted and perhaps confused. But Bard liked Eliza and Thranduil loved her with his whole heart, he did not wish to confuse things here. He lifted Thranduil’s delicate hand and brushed his lips against his knuckles in the ghost of a kiss, but it was enough for him in this life, he would make it enough.

“Goodnight, my lord.” Bard bid him, he tucked an errant bit of hair behind Thranduil’s ear and rose from his seat, leaving the room behind and going back to his empty home.

Thranduil kept more distance between them after that, Bard had no idea if it was an attempt to stop him from unwittingly hurting Bard now he knew as much as he could know, or if it was his own confusion over the feelings Bard knew were surfacing for him. It was likely some combination of the two, and Bard felt endlessly guilty for causing the latter, he felt like he had betrayed his friend.

Almost a month later, a month of Thranduil keeping away just enough to be noticeable, Bard heard the first fight he had ever heard between Thranduil and Eliza. He did not want to know what they were fighting over, he dreaded to think, he could not make out their words anyway. Mabel looked worried and so he distracted her with the duck pond, showing her the little house he had built to go in the middle for them to nest.

“She was scolding me for staying away from you. I became defensive. It escalated. I’ve never fought with her before.” Thranduil found him in the garden much later, he looked both lost and found. When Bard made no move to speak, focussing on the rose bushes in front of him, Thranduil pressed on. “I think it escalated because I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Something that has not even happened.”

“I am sorry.”

“I love my wife.”

“I know you do.”

“I l– ”

“Don’t.” Bard was scared of what Thranduil was about to say, he did not wish to hear it, he did not wish to break this home, that was never what he had wanted.

“But – ”

“Please.” Bard begged him, shaking his head. “I do not want you to say it.”

“Because I am not him?”

“Aye.” Bard rasped, forcing himself to believe it, he would not let this world destroy itself because of him.

“Perhaps I could be someone new.” It was a whisper, Thranduil did not seem to believe he had said it.

“You already are.” Bard tried to smile. “But you are not mine.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to protest but Bard hushed him. He hated himself but he pressed a kiss to Thranduil’s cheek, and when his love reached for him again Bard moved out of his reach and he left. He did not intend to come back.

He did not have many things, objects seemed so transient and meaningless after the long lives he had lived, yet still packing it all into his solitary case seemed to take a small age. He knew there was someone standing in his doorway, felt their unobtrusive gentle presence, it calmed him, he hardened himself ready to tell Thranduil to leave.

“Stay.”

He had not been ready for it to be Eliza’s voice he heard, he faltered in his packing.

“Stay with us.” Bard turned slowly, as if he was scared of something breaking. Eliza spoke again, making her meaning hard to mistake. “Stay with us both.”

“Andrew – ” Bard fumbled the name, she cut him off anyway.

“Andrew loves us both.” She said firmly, but her voice was soft and soothed Bard’s heart. “I can think of many hardships in the world my dear Bard, but loving you as well as my husband will not be one of them.” 

Bard broke down the way he had wanted too since he first discovered them in this life and Eliza drew him into her arms, and later Thranduil drew him into his arms as well.

“There is much you are not telling us.” Thranduil said gently, Bard nodded, perhaps he knew in his soul, perhaps Bard’s unending anguish was what told him, perhaps he simply knew that something was not adding up properly. It didn’t really matter.

“One day.” Bard promised, the two sets of arms around him only held him tighter and he felt as if some part of the ragged tatters of his heart and soul managed to stitch itself back together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I cannot count and the fic will end tomorrow not christmas eve, though in my defence I have the flu rn :') ~ I may post two tomorrow or one tomorrow and one christmas eve, I haven't decided yet ^^ 
> 
> Thank you all for reading, I havent had time to answer them yet, but all your comments mean the world to me <3


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

Bard hated this new world. It was noisy and suffocating and it was ripped apart by war. This new kind of warfare was shattering, no number of past lives could help him now that guns were what was being pointed at each other.

He hated this life but he hated more the idea that Thranduil was here somewhere as well, he should never be somewhere so dark.

Fear that Thranduil was out here in the fighting somewhere. That was the sole reason Bard had signed up, though he wasn’t naive enough to think he could have avoided the war even if he hadn’t. Just about every able bodied man in the country was being called on to fight and he would have been no different.

Bard imagined France would be a rather beautiful place were it not for the war tearing through everything, then again, everything would be more beautiful if there were not a war going on. He hated the metallic feel of the gun in his hands, he hated the heavy and uncomfortable uniform, he hated the way he fighting seemed unending.

He was not used to this, no war had ever seemed to go on this long in the past. What they would call a war in the past would only chalk up the lives lost in a single battle here, they had just gotten so good at killing each other. This war had been going on for years already, with no end in sight as far as Bard could see, he didn’t even know who their generals were.

The other men held onto wives and children and brothers and sisters and parents to fight for, something solid and tangible that they had to keep them putting one foot in front of the other. Bard didn’t have that, his parents here were already dead, he had no siblings, his children had died so long ago Bard didn’t know how to count it in years. Bard fought for a memory, and the hope that one day it might be an actuality once more. But it was hard to hold on to any kind of hope in this world. He was sure he was more likely to come across Thranduil’s corpse than him living.

Bard and two others had been separated from their regiment, how long ago that was Bard wasn’t entirely sure, none of them were exactly bothering to keep the days, they hardly mattered anyway. One of the men he was with, Tanner, had died from an infection a week after they set off, he just didn’t wake up one morning. Bard buried him while Williams told him they didn’t have time. Williams was still with him, though they hardly spoke these days, there wasn’t much left to say, Bard didn’t like him much anyway, he reminded him of Alfrid.

Still, Bard supposed it was better to face this with someone, not that he had any illusions about Williams helping him should he need it. They were headed in the vague direction of the coast, that was the intention anyway. Every day they walked, found shelter, and then walked some more the next day as well.

Occasionally they came across some enemy soliders, Bard liked to hide if possible, tuck away somewhere and wait for them to pass, Williams always wanted to kill them, Bard saw no honour in it, but sometimes if they wished to survive they had to strike first, because it was unlikely an enemy soldier would think twice before firing at them.

Occasionally they came across civilians, terrified and with little clue who they should trust, if anyone. Bard knew French from when Thranduil and Eliza had taught it too him, it made him useful here, not enough of the soldiers spoke it. Sometimes the civilians would offer the food and water, more often Bard could tell they were nervous about them being here and so he would move them along, he didn’t want to make things even harder for them.

They found shelter at nights wherever they could in whatever was left, an abandoned barn, a broken down jeep, whatever there was. Sometimes they just had to make do in the trees, but Bard was wary about being out in the open, he didn’t trust Williams to stay awake on watch.

Bard didn’t see the horrors of wars and battles in his sleep, and maybe that should have been a blessing, though he wonders if he would prefer it to what haunted him instead. Happy memories from other lives, Thranduil’s laughter, his children’s smiles, lazy days out in the gardens, paintings Thranduil had painted that he would never see again, elven wine and sultry evenings, playful sparring sessions, the rocking of a ship as they rocked together. It all made it so much harder for reality to come back when he awoke, to have the warmth of those memories snatched back away.

At least if the terrors and horrors of his lives haunted him he would be glad to wake. As it was, Bard knew he would not care if he never woke again. But he did, every day he did and every day he got back up and remained vigil and kept his hateful gun close, because he knew that any day he might find Thranduil.

He had his fears, that he would find a corpse with silver blonde hair, that he would find a terrified civilian too shell-shocked to function, that he would find a fellow soldier in a hospital, broken and bloody. But Bard knew he would look after him, if he permitted it, no matter how bad things were they would be able to get through it if they had each other. But right now they did not have each other, Bard had memories and Thranduil did not even have that.

Bard wondered what his name might be here, whether he might have been spared from the fighting somehow. Perhaps he was one of the generals or officers in the army, perhaps he was just a foot soldier. Perhaps he lived on the other side of the world and was safely tucked away from all this fighting and death. The last one he knew to be wishful thinking, they were calling this a world war and Bard could not fault them for it because it seemed to be so, but he let the idea of it comfort him in times of great anguish anyway

He spent most of his time thinking about Thranduil, it was how he managed to pass the days, his deep thought of probably why Williams didn’t bother to try and talk to him beyond the necessary anymore. Bard didn’t care, it was all that kept him moving. He found himself irrationally jealous at times, when he would see Williams drawing out the crumpled and worn picture of the girl he loved back home. He wanted a picture of Thranduil, though he could summon him to his mind as easily as he could his own face, he would give anything to be able to see it again. 

Bard tried not to dwell on the morbid, but that could be impossibly hard with everything going on around them. He knew the chances of him dying in this world before he even found Thranduil were high, but still he was a fool and he had hope, if only because he had been given his love every other time in one way or another, even if he had only been able to see him from afar.

“Civilians.” Williams said, voice gruff, Bard looked ahead and lowered his weapon immediately.

“Gun down.” Bard ordered, he wasn’t Williams superior technically, but the man seemed to defer to him anyway, maybe Bard still held some of his bearing as a king, despite how many lives it had been.

“But – ”

“Now.” Bard growled, and Williams begrudgingly did as he was asked.

It was only a little girl, her family had to be here somewhere, but for now she was the only one in sight. She froze when she saw them, panic overcoming her little features. Bard held his hands up in a gesture of peace, Williams unhappily did the same. She still looked wary but she did not run.

“Where is your family?” Bard asked, his French serving him well once more.

“Back that way. Back home.” She pointed in the direction she meant.

“It is dangerous out here little one. You should go home.” Bard cautioned her, she nodded slowly. “Will you let us walk you there?” Bard asked, he did not like the idea of leaving her out her by herself, she could not be older than seven.

“Okay.” She said after a long pause, and Bard walked to her slowly, giving her time to get ahead and stay there if she wanted to, but she waited and walked between them.

Williams looked like this was the greatest chore he had ever been set, Bard was glad to the spark of life he could see in her eyes yet, it made him wonder if things would be okay in the end, if he could fight in this war simply to try and preserve that look in the little girl’s eyes. 

“What were you doing out here all by yourself?” Bard asked, she looked up at him with green eyes.

“I wanted to play in the trees.” She said, it felt like she was trying to reclaim something that had been stolen away from her, some innocence.

“It is not safe to do that at the moment. You mustn’t go out without your parents at least.” Bard told her, she nodded sadly.

“I know.” She sighed, Bard paused and stooped to pick a little wildflower growing in the earth, he tucked it behind her ear and she gave him a blinding smile.

They returned the girl to a panicked mother, thankful enough for the safe return of her child to offer them both some food and water, even shelter if they wanted it, but Williams wanted to keep moving, and Bard knew it would not do to becoming attached, and he seemed so desperate to attach himself to something right now.

Bard deluded himself into believing that the little girl would be okay despite the state of her family’s land, despite the fact he knew soldiers from both sides must find themselves passing through their lands. This was a dangerous place, most people had fled from it, Bard didn’t know what had kept that family there and he did not ask.

A week or so after that Williams was shot as they came across an enemy solider, nervous with fear and adrenalin and with an itchy trigger finger, they had both been too slow to react and the lone soldier had managed to catch Williams in his frantic shooting before Bard had taken him with a clean shot. He had stayed with Williams through the pain and the infection, even though he knew Williams would not have done the same for him. He had tried to treat it but he knew in reality that it was too bad a wound for him to be able to save out here alone without any supplies. Bard would guess it was blood loss in the end.

Williams died and Bard buried him before continuing on alone.

He wasn’t sure if it was easier or harder to travel this road alone. Both in different ways he supposed, he did not have to worry about anyone else, but even if they had said little and cared for each other less, Williams had been another person, a companion, someone to ground you. Bard felt dangerously like he was drifting again. He would go days without seeing another soul, and most of the time that he did see them, he would hide himself away until they had passed, eyes searching for silver blond hair but never finding it.

He had no idea how much ground he was covering in a day, he was not moving particularly fast but he wasn’t going especially slowly either, at least he didn’t think he was. At this point he wasn’t even entirely sure he was going in the right direction at all.

Walking alone as he was left him torn between disappearing completely into his memories and trying to stay away from them entirely, needing all his focus on his surroundings, just in case. But as always happened he repeatedly got caught in his memories instead of being wary of where he was now, as he should.

He let the happy ones wrap around him like a cloak, he found a way for them to make him smile even though he no longer had them, and they seemed so very far away. Sometimes when he was walking he would come across fields that were still green, or a meadow that still had flowers blooming and he remembered weaving flowers into the braids that the Elvenking used to wear, and showing it to Thranduil in lives where he had not thought of it, he always loved to have flowers in his hair, Bard was glad there were still flowers alive in the world, if only so they might one day adorn Thranduil’s hair again.

It was in those moments in the quiet when the world seemed almost beautiful again Bard let himself dream, dream that he would find Thranduil after the war had finally ended, that they would be happy and he would still be able to braid flowers into his hair. But those fantasies were always hard to hold onto when he inevitably came upon destruction not far along. It was easier to hold on to the memories, they filled him up and kept him warm.

 

_“Bard, where are you taking me?” Thranduil called, picking his way through the wild gracefully as Bard led the way._

_“You know where we are.” Bard laughed, the Elvenking knew his lands and the ones surrounding them far too well not to know precisely where they were._

_“That does not mean I know where we are going.” Thranduil pointed out._

_“True, but there is only one place at the end of this route.” Bard countered, waiting for Thranduil simply so that he could tangle their hands together as they walked, simply because he could._

_“We’re going to the lake? Whatever for?” Thranduil asked, having worked out the correct destination._

_“Because it is the height of summer and we’ve been working hard.”_

_“And that constitutes a visit to the lake because?”_

_“Because then we can go swimming.” Bard smiled and Thranduil looked more interested already, though with a somewhat more lecherous look than Bard had intended._

_“I do enjoy seeing you without your shirt.” Thranduil teased, murmuring it low in his ear, Bard turned swiftly to steal a kiss._

_“And I you, my king. Though I think the children would appreciate it if we would keep our hands relatively off each other.” Bard joked, thinking of the sanity of his children, Thranduil lit up further instead of pouting._

_“The children are here?” Thranduil asked brightly, and really they weren’t children anymore, but they would always be their children to them._

_“Aye. I think they miss you more than me.” Bard teased and Thranduil knocked his shoulder affectionately and kissed him hard before setting off at a faster pace than before, it had been a long while since Thranduil, almost two seasons, having to spend a lot of time in his own realm and the children always managing to be off somewhere when he was back._  

_“Ada!” Came an excited shout as soon as they came into sight, followed by Tilda throwing herself at her ada, she was almost twenty years old now, but she always had hugs for them both._

_“I have missed you little one.” Thranduil sighed, spinning her around and making her laugh happily, before she threw herself at Bard for a cuddle, even though he had seem them just this morning._

_Bain and Sigrid also greeted Thranduil with hugs, both having missed their ada too, and then there was a small bundle in Thranduil’s arms monopolising his attentions as Sigrid and her husband used the respite to go for a swim._

_“Her hands are so small.” Thranduil murmured, they were lying facing each other, Asta, still just a tiny baby, lying between them, grabbing at her own feet._

_Bard watched with a soft smile as Thranduil let her grab his finger, pudgy little baby hand squeezing it before sticking it in her mouth and making them both laugh quietly. She looked up at Thranduil with her big brown eyes and Bard felt a comfort wash over him, like maybe Thranduil would be okay when he was gone, because he would still have family, he would always have family here._

_“She seems to like my hair.” Thranduil grinned as she let go of his finger and started playing with his silver hair, Thranduil didn’t even seem to care that she was tugging at it._

_“I cannot blame her, it is very beautiful hair.” Bard told him and Thranduil turned his soft smile briefly from the baby to him._

_“Not nearly as beautiful as she is.” Thranduil said, believing it with every fibre of his being._

_“Aye.” Bard smiled, both of them showering the newest member of the family with more love than she probably knew what to do with, and they weren’t even her parents._

_They laughed as she grabbed hold of Bard’s scruff and tugged at it, her other arm coming up to join in her curious explanation._

_“Maybe she’s trying to tell me it’s too long and I should cut it off.” Bard joked, grinning down at her and pulling silly faces, grinning as she gurgled out happy little baby laughs._

_“Don’t you dare.” Thranduil protested. “I love it too much.”_

_“Okay.” Bard smiled and smiled even more when a gentle kiss was pressed to his cheek._

_They pulled funny faces at the baby in a competition to see who could get her to laugh the most, bickering over who had got the loudest baby giggle from her when they heard their children laughing at them._

_“You’re both so soppy. Aren’t you supposed to be hardened warriors?” Tilda teased them both, Thranduil looked like he was going to protest but then little Asta gurgled and swiped for his hair and the expression Thranduil turned on her was so heart wrenchingly soft that it was difficult to deny Tilda’s words._

 

Bard’s mind often wandered back to that day at the lake, not just in this life but the ones before as well, it made him happier than it did melancholy and so it had become a favourite. He missed days like that, spent away from the world with his family, it was so long since he had seen his children he sometimes feared he would forget their faces, but he never did, they were as clear in his mind as if they were right in front of him still.

The memories were his company as he walked through the desolated world he currently found himself in, driven on only by the thought, the blind hope, of finding Thranduil once more, for that seemed to be the only point he could find in his lives now, the only thing worth living for, the thing that kept him going.

Bard had decided that that was why he was here, because he could see no other reason, he had decided that the only reason they were both continually being brought back and finding each other despite the vastness of the world was so that they could be together again. He remembered a wish he had made to the Valar, he hadn’t known they listened, as he lay dying alone in the woods he had begged to be able to see him again, for it not to be the end. He should have been more careful what he wished for, because this was not what he had meant.

An unending spiral of hurt and death and longing and searching. He wished to be with Thranduil forever, and when they were happy they were so very happy that Bard knew it was worth it, but times like these he remembered the horrors as well, he remembered seeing Thranduil die, he remembered the colosseum, he remembered the pain, he remembered the hardships and the suffering they had both endured. He wished they could be together, constantly and consistently, in the peaceful afterlife that Middle Earth had always promised them.

He was both grateful for the extra time they had been given and resentful of the way it was given.

Bard was so thoroughly lost in thought over his lot in life – lot in lives – that he was not properly alert to his surroundings, and he did not hear the group of soldiers approaching until it was too late to hide.

He raised his gun as the enemy soldiers came into his view and the weapon slipped from his hands as quickly as the air left his lungs.

For one of the enemy soldiers had long silver hair and a face Bard would never forget. 

But Bard was the enemy and had raised his gun, even if it slipped from his fingers now, and Thranduil was fast, he had always been fast in battle and his gun was already aimed.

There was a bullet in Bard’s chest before the name had even passed his lips.

 _Thranduil_.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

“That’ll be £4.95.” The girl at the counter told him with a retail smile, Bard summoned the will from somewhere to smile back as he passed over the money and took his coffee.

The coffee was warm and strong and just what he needed this early on a cold winter morning. He didn’t like the taste but it served a purpose, it kept his eyes open. Bard did not like sleeping. His past lives were littered with such devastation that always visited him in his dreams, he felt such a fool for ever bemoaning having to dream of the happy parts now that he was stuck with the bad whenever he closed his eyes.

Most of his dreams ended the same way, with an unheard scream and a bullet in his heart, the dispassionate, unrecognising look from the man he loved haunted him every day. Sometimes he would swear he could still feel it ripping through his skin and muscles.

He tried to focus on logic, on his mind, on knowing that Thranduil did not know who he was, he had known it was that way since the first time they were re-embodied. It wasn’t Thranduil’s fault, fate had decided to punish them for some crime Bard did not understand and had put them in different parts of the world at the worst possible time.

He knew all that, and maybe it helped some, but he still faced the memory of Thranduil shooting him down every day.

The day that memory had returned to him had almost broken him, he wished he could be dispassionate and logical about it, but he could not help the way it hurt. He needed Thranduil’s arms around him, he needed comfort not cruel memories, he needed this horrible spiral to be over, he needed more than anything for Thranduil to know him. He didn’t know if he had the strength to keep going through this. 

He begged the Valar every day to give him his Thranduil back, to stop this cruel game, to just let them be. He didn’t know why he still believed they listened, didn’t know why he even thought they still existed.

Bard finished his coffee and threw the cup into the bin as he reached the library. He found his favourite little corner, blissfully devoid of people, and pulled his laptop out of his bag.

Bard stared at the page, rereading what he had already written and wondered again why it was he did this to himself.

In this new world he was a writer, it was peaceful and quiet, allowed him to keep to himself and live off it as by some miracle he was reasonably successful.

He wrote fiction and people seemed to love his stories, though he wrote them under a pseudonym and they were not fiction at all.

They were his life, their lives. Stories from times spent with his love, he never knew if the newest story would be a happy or sad one until he started to write it. When he had written about his last days in the war his readers had called him a great writer and a cruel writer. Because they believed it to be fiction, they didn’t know he had truly lived it, that that was why it was so realistically written.

He had written a lot from their lives, but there were always more stories for him to tell, life with Thranduil had never been dull, and life looking for him had always been restless.

He didn’t use their real names in the book, he wanted to keep that small part for himself.

It was both therapeutic and painful to write them. He loved to remember, and he hated to remember.

He didn’t bother to correct his name anymore, he introduced himself as James, the name his parents here had given him, it was a nice name, even if it felt alien for it to be his. He tried to lie to himself and pretend that it wasn’t because of what had happened last time, in the war, but he never really managed to fool himself. He didn’t want this life anymore.

He didn’t write the stories in any particular order, his readers apparently liked that, that they never knew if the next one would take them to ancient Rome, or renaissance Florence, or Saxon England or Viking Scandinavia, or a mystical land filled with magic and dragons, or the Great War, or Victorian England, or even the Caribbean seas in the golden age of piracy. He never wrote any set in modern day, though he knew his readers wanted it, but there was nothing to say. He hadn’t found Thranduil, and for the first time he wasn’t sure what he would do if he did.

Bard sighed and started writing, letting himself fall back into the high seas to tell one of the many adventures they had had there. They had been so happy then, though the way it ended still haunted Bard, the suddenness of it had been jarring and unfair. His readers knew how each story ended, Bard would have been content to stop writing, but there was a demand for other stories from their lives, and there was a wealth of them stored in Bard’s mind, so he wrote them. Maybe it was because it was as close as he could get to sharing the burden, maybe that was why he wrote them.

He’d send the pages to his editor soon, he liked her, he just wished she’d stop nagging him to come out from behind his penname so she could make ‘them’ some more money from signings and tours. There was only one way that conversation ever had or was going to go.

Bard worked through most of the day, shutting down the document and packed his laptop back up about an hour before the library closed for the day. He spent a little while browsing the shelves, picking out a book for the next few days and as usual he ended up with three instead of just one.

“Good afternoon James.” The librarian, Maggie, smiled and him and Bard smiled back, he liked her, she was a sweet old lady. “Did you have a productive day?”

“Very thank you.” Bard told her, passing the books over the counter.

“I wish you’d tell me what it is you write.” She teased him as she scanned and stamped the books, Bard considered telling her that he wrote about his own life, about the hatred fate apparently held for him, about how he could no longer face the unending spiral if it wasn’t even going to be happy.

“If you guess I promise to tell the truth.” Is what Bard said instead and she seemed content with that answer.

“Do we keep them in here?” She asked, voice conspiratorial.

“I believe you do.” Bard grinned and she beamed at him.

“I am glad.” She smiled and Bard started to leave with another smile and a see you in a few days.

“Excuse me, could you point me to the romance section, I seem utterly unable to find it.” 

Bard was barely three steps away, he heard every word and every word was a knife to his chest. He took a deep breath and tried to find his equilibrium, he didn’t want to turn around and he wanted to with every part of his being. He wanted to force himself to walk away but he couldn’t, he didn’t turn though, just stayed rooted to the spot like a statue.

“Yes it’s a bit of a maze in here. If you can wait a moment I’ll see these people and take you there myself. Actually, James dear, would you mind showing this gentleman to the romance section?” Maggie called to him and Bard looked up to the heavens, the choice about turning around or just leaving thoroughly taken out of his hands.

“Of course not.” Bard turned and smiled at Maggie before inevitably his eyes came to Thranduil.

It was almost painful just to look at him, such a hurricane of emotion inside him that he barely knew how to cope with on a normal day when Thranduil wasn’t thrown back into his path. He was as beautiful as the day Bard had first met him, his long silver blonde hair fell around his shoulders like strings of silk, his skin was still the ivory Bard had always known, his lips were still soft and pink, his cheekbones and jawline sharp, his limbs long and elegant, his eyes glittering ice blue.

Bard looked at him and how much he still loved him hit him like a kick to the stomach.

He loved him still, but he had no idea how to do this anymore.

“James knows the library almost as well as I. You’re in good hands I promise.” Maggie smiled at Thranduil who hadn’t moved his eyes from Bard at all.

“I believe you.” Thranduil spared her a smile before flicking his eyes back to Bard.

“It’s this way.” Bard said, his voice sounded dead even to his own ears, he saw Maggie look concerned but he ignored it.

He led the way through the winding bookshelves in silence, it was a library after all, they shouldn’t be talking.

“They’re here.” Bard said quietly, he hardly recognised his own voice, it sounded so tired, so broken.

“Thank you.” Thranduil said, he’d always said thank you to Bard, right now he was giving him a curious look, but Bard didn’t stay to find out what it meant and started walking away.

He waved to Maggie on his way back past and forced a smile so she would believe he was fine and she waved and smiled back as she always did before returning to her work.

The frigid winter helped him take a steadying breath, deep gulps of cold air before his shaking legs felt strong enough to carry him forwards and away from Thranduil. He ached with every step he took but he didn’t know how to go back, he didn’t know how to do it all all over again just for it to end horribly once more and for Bard to be alone once more and for Thranduil to go on not knowing how he was or why he mattered. Perhaps he didn’t matter at all.

Bard didn’t know if he was more likely to run back to the library or board a plane to the other side of the world.

For now he just headed back towards his quiet house, maybe he would come up with some kind of plan, though he would probably chose to do nothing, that was easier than the strength it would take to actively leave the area, and he didn’t know how to do this again. He didn’t know how to have Thranduil not know him again, he didn’t know how to deal with it when it inevitably ended this time too, only for the fate to reset Thranduil all over again.

He couldn’t do it again.

Bard stuffed his hands into his pockets and pressed on down the long old road, he hadn’t been walking long when there was a gentle hand on his arm urging him to stop and _that voice_ saying his name. He hadn’t expected Thranduil to do that, or why he would bother, he didn’t know Bard after all.

“Sorry.” Thranduil pulled his hand back, his hair was windswept, as if he had run after Bard. “It’s impertinent of me I know, but I just moved here and I don’t know anyone. And well, for some reason I trust you, you seem friendly. Almost familiar even.” Thranduil faltered and Bard tried not to flinch. “Anyway, I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to get coffee.” Thranduil was never overly social, he certainly didn’t invite strangers to coffee, Bard wondered why he was doing it now.

“What’s your name?”

“Michael.” Thranduil answered, but something in his face made it look like he didn’t like the way that name tasted, Bard didn’t like it either, he liked Thranduil, his Thran.

“Why do you want to go to coffee with me?” Bard asked, he was wary and he knew it, he wasn’t sure if he could put himself through this again, but something seemed… _different_ this time.

“Like I said I don’t know anyone and you feel familiar somehow, though I know how strange that sounds. Call it a thank you for helping me in the library.” Thranduil finished with one of his little laughs and Bard felt a part of his shattered soul light back up at the sound.

“We can go for coffee.” Bard said quietly, nodding his head, he wasn’t really sure what to say, how to even have these conversations anymore, how to behave like there was nothing between them, like they were only just meeting.

“Excellent.” Thranduil was smiling at him and it was like water to a dying man. “Maybe tomorrow? Shall we say half two? I’ve only seen one coffee shop, the one on the highstreet?”

“You won’t like that one.” Bard said, sure of the fact Thranduil looked intrigued. “Trust me. There is a little one on Bell Road, it’s called _Rosies,_ it’s much nicer.” Bard explained, and Thranduil was giving him a soft smile that was hurting him more with every passing moment because it was a soft smile paired with curiosity in his eyes, curiosity because he didn’t know Bard anymore.

“ _Rosies_ , very well then. I will see you there James.” He gave him one last parting smile and turned to leave, Bard had never regretted not changing his name more, it felt wrong coming from Thranduil’s lips.

He considered not going, after all if he stood him up the chances of Thranduil coming after him again were practically nil. But that was what made it feel different, for the first time it was Thranduil pursuing him, Bard wasn’t sure to that, usually he chased after Thranduil just as he chased after the memory of what they had once been to one another.

Bard went, of course he went. He spent hours in front of a mirror choosing his outfit, though his hair and scruff were the same unruly scruffy mess as they had been when he was truly Bard of Laketown, but he was careful with his outfit. He ended up in his nice jeans and a long sleeved Henley, a warm cardigan thrown over the top and finally one of his warm winter coats and he went. Of course he went.

Thranduil wasn’t there when he arrived, so Bard ordered Thranduil a caramel latte that he knew without asking he would like and got himself a simple English tea, and he found a table and he waited.

Thranduil wasn’t late, Bard had been early. He looked good, of course he looked good, he was everything Bard wanted in life but that he was too scared to dare and try to have again.

“Oh, you ordered for me.” Thranduil smiled as he sat and Bard nodded.

“You’ll like it.” Bard told him and Thranduil raised one of those strong eyebrows and took a sip, delight flicking across his face as the sweet hot drink hit his tongue, Bard had been right, of course he had been right, he knew Thranduil better than he knew himself.

“It’s delicious.” Thranduil smiled at him, he was less guarded here, or maybe that was just with Bard, he had always been more open with Bard, even before they had known each other, or maybe it was just that Bard was used to seeing the tiny quirks and flickers in his face for the great smiles and laughs and scowls that they were.

Bard didn’t say anything, he wasn’t sure what to say, he took a drink from his tea and let Thranduil watch him, and Bard watched him in return. He was still painfully beautiful, he always had been.

“You are very quiet.” Thranduil observed after a little while.

“I am not sure what to say.” Bard answered honestly, he didn’t know how to make small talk, how to pretend he didn’t know Thranduil. “You don’t like mindless small talk anyway.” It slipped past his lips before he could think better of it.

“You’re right I don’t.” Thranduil let out a small laugh. “I would like to get to know you though.”

“Why?”

“You intrigue me.” Thranduil smiled, it warmed Bard from the inside out.  

“I’m not a very interesting person.”

“I doubt that very much. Besides, I feel like there is something about you, though I cannot quite put my finger on what it is.”

There was another pause where they drank their drinks and just watched each other and Bard resisted the urge to either run or drag Thranduil across the table and kiss those soft lips. But of course he couldn’t do that, they were strangers after all, to Thranduil anyway.

“Is this a date?” Bard asked after a little while, it was the only thing he could think to ask.

“It’s whatever you want it to be. It can be a date if you like.” Thranduil smiled at him again, it was blinding, Bard found it hard to look at. “Would you like?” Thranduil added in question, looking ever so slightly vulnerable, though no mere stranger would ever have been able to notice the subtle line of his mouth that indicated that vulnerability. But Bard wasn’t a stranger, and the small change was like a neon sign.

“Yes. I would like it to be.” Bard said, it was a half-truth, his life was filled with half-truths.

“Me too.” Thranduil smiled in return.

They made small talk for a while, Bard found out things about Thranduil’s life in this world, he was an architect, Bard imagined how beautiful the buildings he designed must be. His father had died last year, his mother a long time ago, Thranduil had sold the house and moved, which is how he had ended up out here, he wanted a fresh start. He liked to read, Bard told him he was a writer and Thranduil lit up, though he pouted when Bard wouldn’t tell him what he wrote, Thranduil’s old pout startled a laugh out of him, he had almost forgotten how ridiculous the pout looked, but he had forgotten how his own laugh sounded.

Thranduil liked riding and the wildlife, he painted in his spare time and Bard remembered the beautiful creations in Florence that his hands had spun. He actually owned the architect firm, Bard discovered a little bit later, though he wasn’t surprised, he was ruthless in the running of his business, that didn’t surprise Bard either.  

There was something not quite happy about him too though. Content certainly, and he was not unhappy when he spoke of his life, but he wasn’t passionate or lively when he spoke of it either.

They completely lost track of time, that didn’t surprise Bard, he remembered all the afternoons they had lost lying in each other’s arms. But it did seem to surprise Thranduil, though from the set of his face it was a pleasant surprise when the barista’s started politely shooing them out. 

“We’ve been talking for over three hours and I still find myself reluctant to let it end.” Thranduil smiled, they were lingering outside the shop despite the cold air. “Usually I can’t wait for these kinds of things to end.”

“Me too.” Bard answered, he was smiling as well, even though there was that all familiar painful nagging in his chest, because it would end.

“Would you like to come over to my place?” Thranduil asked, and even in the dark Bard could see the little flush of embarrassment on his cheeks. “I still haven’t unpacked properly, but I can offer you a glass of wine.” Bard smiled to himself, of course he had wine, he always had wine.

Bard still loved him so much.

His heart was aching to fall back into those arms but the ache was acute, he carried so much pain from all these different lives somehow ending, from Thranduil going back to not knowing him once more, that he knew he should say no and walk away.

So he said yes, of course he said yes.

“Yeah. Some wine sounds good. And your place is probably tidier than mine anyway, even if you haven’t finished unpacking.” Bard told him, thinking about his messy apartment and how Thranduil always used to scold him for being messy.

Thranduil smiled that smile at him again and they started walking together, it didn’t take Bard long to notice that Thranduil neither seemed to have gloves nor pockets and was rubbing his elegant hands together.

“Here.” Bard said, pulling his gloves off and passing them to Thranduil. “I have pockets.” Bard said firmly when Thranduil opened his mouth to protest, even though he would have given him them even if he didn’t, he would give him his very coat if he so much as shivered.

“Thank you.” Thranduil smiled a smile that soon turned a little cheeky and Bard found one of his hands wrapped in the hold of one of Thranduil’s gloved hands before it made it to his pocket.

Bard laughed lightly and shook his head in amusement, it was something he should expect Thranduil to do. Thranduil blushed when Bard turned their hands and kissed his gloved knuckles. It felt like they had done this a thousand times before, and of course they had, and it felt nothing like a first date, which of course it wasn’t. But only Bard knew that, so he couldn’t help but wonder why Thranduil was behaving like they had done it many times before as well.

Thranduil lived in an expensive looking large house on the edge of town, it had been a long walk but neither of them had minded, somewhere along the way Thranduil had started rubbing his thumb over the back of Bard’s hand and it was such a caring gesture that it broke Bard’s heart. Because Thranduil didn’t know who he was, he never knew who he was.

The house was warm but Thranduil lit the fire in the sitting room anyway, behaving like having held the hand of a virtual stranger all the way home was normal, and to Bard it was because it was Thranduil, but who was Bard to him really?

“That’s better.” Thranduil said as the fire roared to life. “You stay here and I shall find some wine.” He smiled and for one moment Bard thought Thranduil was going to kiss him, and he was sure he almost had when he saw Thranduil catch himself and stop immediately, disappearing with a confused look and an awkward smile, like he didn’t know why he had almost done that.

Bard sighed to himself, he should leave. Something about the room reminded him of Thranduil’s Woodland Realm, the carving of the wood and the style of the furniture. He wandered around the room, taking in all the things that made up this Thranduil. Then he found something that made him stop in his tracks and stare.

A bookshelf filled with books. Bard’s books. Every single one of them. On every single one the spines were broken, they were curled and dog-eared, and the pages were worn. They were his and Thranduil had clearly read them again and again and again. One of the ones from Middle Earth was missing, but a quick scan of the room showed it on the coffee table, the one he was currently reading, for the hundredth time if the state of the book was anything to go by.

Bard wasn’t breathing as he traced a hand down one of the spines.

“Do you prefer red or – oh. Yes, sorry, my favourites.” Thranduil smiled, though he looked a little embarrassed as he came to stand beside Bard.

“They looked like they’ve been read hundreds of times.” Bard swallowed thickly.

“They have.”

“Why?” Bard asked, his voice was strained, he didn’t know what to think, he didn’t know what it meant, if it even meant anything at all.   

“You would think me insane.” Thranduil laughed, trying to steer the conversation away from his worn and dog-eared and well-loved and a thousand times read copies of Bard’s books.

“I assure you I will not.” Bard told him quietly, maybe Thranduil sensed something in his tone, because he faltered. 

“I –.” Thranduil huffed in annoyance at himself. “Those books sing to my very soul. It’s like reading a memory. I can’t explain it. But when I read the words on the page I can see it so clearly I _know_ they aren’t fiction, they settle in my soul like pieces of myself coming back to me. I think they’re about me, I _know_ they’re about me. Sometimes I know exactly what I felt when the thing being described happened, an emotional memory coming back to me. And now you think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Bard said softly and Thranduil faltered again, looking at him with a struggling expression, like the realisation was right on his periphery, he just could not quite grasp it. “Have you found all your pieces?”

“No.”

“What’s missing?”

“He is.”

“Do you remember his name?” Bard asked, his voice was thick and he felt as if he could hardly breathe.

“I know it is not the one in the book, neither of them are right.” Thranduil said, trailing his fingers over the spines of the books, as if they would whisper the answer to him.

There was a long silence, Bard couldn’t say how long it went on for, he had sat down on the bottom stair and closed his eyes at some point, perhaps to keep himself from letting tears slip. Then a name was whispered and his eyes flew open.

“ _Bard_. His name was Bard.” Thranduil had a look of awe on his face, like he had recovered the most precious thing in the world, he looked over to Bard with his ecstatic expression and Bard burst into tears. “Are you okay? What is wrong?” Thranduil asked, rushing over to his side, there were gentle hands around his face and Bard held onto them with his own, turning his face into one of Thranduil’s palms.

“ _Thranduil_. My Thranduil.” It came out as a sob, a relieved gasping sob, and he saw the dawning on Thranduil.

Though it was less of a dawning and more of a damn breaking behind Thranduil’s eyes. 

“ _Meleth nín_. Oh Bard, oh my love I am _so sorry_.”

There were arms around him in seconds and he was being pulled against a strong chest and he was crying freely into the embrace and he could feel the wetness from Thranduil’s own tears in his hair. Thranduil – for it truly was Thranduil once again – was murmuring things to him and it didn’t much matter what they were because what really mattered was that the words were in Sindarin and Thranduil was rocking him against his chest.

They stayed there for a long time, holding each other tight, they both needed it, they needed to just feel, reassure themselves that the other was really there and not about to vanish like some cruel dream.

Bard lent up and sought Thranduil’s lips and they kissed as if the world was ending, mingled with tears and desperation and hurt and apologies for things that weren’t even their fault.

“The things I did Bard how can you even look at me after, after – ” Thranduil gasped, but Bard cut him off.

“Don’t.” Bard begged. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t know. But don’t speak of it. Please.” He wasn’t ready to speak of it, Thranduil nodded against him and they found each other’s lips again.

They didn’t speak but just held each other, at some point they had migrated to the sofa and Bard was holding Thranduil, his Thranduil, close to his chest once more. He ran his fingers through that silken hair and pressed kisses to his head as Thranduil buried his face in Bard’s neck and breathed deeply, a set of warm lips pressing to his skin occasionally.

“How do you remember?” Bard said finally. “I did everything I could to get you to remember before. I’d reigned myself to you forgetting me every time.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I could ever forget you. But I remember now, I remember.” Thranduil reassured, they were holding each other so tight.

“I’m scared you’ll forget again.” Bard whispered, he hated how broken his voice was. “I can’t do it again. I can’t have you not know me again. I can’t do it.” He was crying again and shaking his head, Thranduil caught his lips and calmed him with a kiss.

“I won’t.” Thranduil promised him, voice firm and Bard could almost believe it.

“You can’t know that.”

“I do I do know it. I will not forget you Bard, never again, I promise.” Thranduil said it with such surety, with the command of a king that Bard couldn’t help but believe it, so he nodded and they kissed again.

They barely stopped kissing all day, it took weeks before they would allow themselves to be parted even or just five minutes. But each day Bard believed more and more that Thranduil had his memories now, that they weren’t going to suddenly vanish again.

He tried not to think about what was going to happen in the next life. This one was so close to perfect he did not need another. He did not want another if it meant Thranduil would not know him again.

“Why do you think this happened to us?” Thranduil asked one afternoon in late spring, they were lying in his garden, their garden, Thranduil’s head in Bard’s lap.

“I’m not sure. I know that I would occasionally see others reborn, though they never remembered like you and I haven’t seen anyone else in many lifetimes now. I think maybe the Valar listened to me.”

“What do you mean?” Thranduil nudged him, he knew anyway, it was in the books, but he must not have made the connection yet.

“When I was dying in Mirkwood.” Bard started and Thranduil tensed beneath him, he did not like remembering that, Bard soothed a hand through his hair and went back to braiding it with little flowers. “When I was dying, I begged the Valar, I begged them to let me see you again, to let us be together again even though our afterlives would be different. To let us have the happiness we deserved, just once, to let us be truly happy, with no horrible ending or cruel things pulling us apart. I guess they listened.”

“It was unkind of them to make you remember but not I.”

“Aye, it was.”

“Why do you think we keep returning?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we haven’t been truly happy yet.” Bard mused, tucking another little blue flower into the braid he was putting in Thranduil’s hair.

“What about Florence?” Thranduil asked and Bard thought on it, their life in Florence had been one of their happiest for sure.

“We were happy, very happy. But we kept having to run, we were run out of Florence for fear of being imprisoned. We were run out of Venice and Milan for the same reason, someone discovered us, what we really were to each other. We were happy but we were never safe and we were never free of worries or hardships.” Bard reminded him and Thranduil nodded a little sadly.

“I am truly happy here.” Thranduil told him and Bard smiled, bending down to kiss his pink lips.

“As am I.” Bard replied, weaving more flowers into his hair. His head told him it was too early on in this life together to know what the future would hold, but his heart knew they were going to be happy, they were going to be happy and they were going to be together.

Bard finished the braid, small blue flowers flowing through his hair, Thranduil had always liked to have flowers in his hair. Thranduil sat up and inspected the braid, what he could see of it anyway, Bard knew it was good, he had many lifetimes of practice.

“Forget-me-nots.” Thranduil said impossibly softly, running a finger reverently over the little blue flowers, Bard blushed and nodded, Thranduil kissed him gently. “I never will.”

And he never did, for when they died old and worn and happy in each other’s arms, they didn’t awake in new lives, but surrounded by long lost family. Legolas and Sigrid were laughing at them for taking so long and Tilda was smothering them both with her cuddles and Bain was smiling so hard his face looked ready to fall off and Oropher was speaking with Bard’s parents – which was odd to say the least – but not as strange as seeing both their wives giggling together and Thranduil couldn’t even bring himself to care that Legolas was kissing a dwarf because somehow they were all together.

When they got a chance to speak they had many questions, why were they all together, weren’t their afterlives all separate, but that wasn’t what they said.

They just asked why, and the Valar smiled, because they already knew the answer.

They had been happy, they had finally been truly and completely happy, just as they had asked to be, and well, they didn’t see why that happiness needed to ever end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I'd love to hear what your favourite episode was! ^^ 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and I wish you all a very merry Christmas <3


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